Parachute
by Lea Benoit
Summary: HP/DM. Healer Malfoy is assigned to Harry Potter's case– falling out of the sky. Harry doesn't say a word and Draco must learn to listen differently; he supposes he could learn to rely on the silence again. Post-Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This will be a fic I'm writing alongside Refractions so I may not update it as often as that... As always, this is betaed by Sofia, many thanks!

**DISCLAIMER:** No, I don't own Harry Potter, even though I've been really good this year. All the characters, places and universe belong to her except some minor OCs like Alexis Ross, a Junior Healer.

**WARNINGS:** This fic will contain some dark themes, you have been warned.

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><p><strong>Parachute<strong>

* * *

><p>"Healer Malfoy?" a timid voice called from the door.<p>

Draco lowered his book slowly, fixing his gaze on the trainee. She was small in stature, hands tucked deep into her pockets. Alexis Ross– muggleborn– had joined them two weeks ago, shadowing the Mind Healers as they worked on their patients. Her zealousness distinctly reminded him of Granger, ridiculously attentive and enthusiastic about her work despite the lack of patients at this time of year.

She stood just outside, fiddling with the buttons of her robe while she waited, watching him warily and biting her lip. He sighed and as set his cup of tea down with a slight thud, she jumped. He smirked in accomplishment to himself. "Come in," he said to her, resisting the urge to grin at her reluctance to step into his office.

He had been working as at St. Mungo's for about three years, trying to clear his name. His parents were dead– he had moved and finished his education in France before he returned to England, assisting the Potions Master at Hogwarts. (Severus' replacement was sub-par, Draco thought, botching several batches of the Draught of Living Death on the first day.) After several letters, bottles of wine and begging, Professor McGonagall had finally relented and secured him an interview, allowing him to move into St. Mungo's immediately after.

The Dark Mark lay hidden under his sleeves, carefully shielded from prying eyes as he worked then. It had taken months until the staff finally accepted him, but the trainees were still deathly afraid of him. He grinned deviously at Alexis, who dropped into the chair facing his desk, and prompted her to speak.

"I'm– I'm so sorry to bother you, sir, but Healer Bell would like to see you," she hurried over her words. Draco raised an eyebrow. Katie, Head of Department or not, hardly came to work on Mondays, preferring to stay home with her 'cats' that mysteriously left love bites on her neck when she checked on him every Tuesday. He rose to his feet quickly, picking up his robe from the back of his chair and pulling it on, moving towards the door.

Alexis scrambled to catch up with him and they walked together down the corridor. Draco buttoned up his robe quickly, smoothing the green fabric down. Their footsteps echoed in the darkness; It was about ten-thirty now, most of the staff had already retired and the patients would be asleep for the night. He frowned as they turned left into the Blue Corridor, pace quickening to match hers as she sped up, glancing at him to make sure he was following her. Draco hardly worked in the wards– the patients would normally come into his office, escorted by a Junior Healer...

Sounds of urgent yelling broke the silence of the hospital and Draco caught sight of Katie pulling on a pair of gloves as she disappeared into a room on the corridor. Mackenzie and White were there as well, their voices carrying loudly through the doorway. He broke into a light run, pushing aside some chattering nurses as he pushed into the room. He froze at the sight and his jaw dropped, not quite believing his eyes.

Katie was bent over, hard at work trying to seal a head wound– the normal jet-black birds' nest had been shaven off, the skin slowly knitting together under her wand. His horribly oversized clothes were ripped in odd places and he looked thinner than ever, lying on the narrow hospital bed. If it weren't for the dull lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, Draco couldn't even be sure he was looking at Harry Potter. His breathing was laboured, thrashing slightly despite the nurses holding him down.

"Draco," Katie called, not looking up. "I need you to start on his internal injuries. Ribs, left tibia, bleeding in the torso." He moved forward and nodded, quickly slicing through the clothes and began chanting softly, watching the glow sink into his skin. He grimaced at the sight– Potter was pale and covered in small cuts, bruises blossoming clearly on his skin.

Katie tried to soothe him softly but Harry inhaled sharply in pain as she lifted his head slowly to reach the damage behind him. He was silent, squeezing his eyes shut and struggling against his restraints. When he managed to break Mackenzie's grip on his hand, Draco raised his wand and stunned him. The room fell deathly silent again and they gaped at him, pausing their work. Draco glared back at them all.

"We can work faster if he's not trying to escape, Boy-Who-Lived or not," he drawled, casting a charm to help Potter breathe. When the whispers started up, Draco looked back to his work, trying to set the ribs so he could repair them properly. The glow turned from a dark green to a soft shade of gold as the bruises dissolved into the unusually white skin, leaving it unmarked. Draco pressed his lips into a hard line and searched for other injuries inside.

He rolled up his jeans carefully to get better access to the broken tibia, flinching slightly at the exposed bone pierced through the skin. Draco breathed deeply, ignoring the heavy metallic smell of blood in the air and cast a relatively simple charm to realign the bone. He winced as it disappeared into the skin, manoeuvring into place and leaving a gaping hole in Potter's flesh. The red, congealing liquid trickled out and Draco sighed deeply. There was a reason he was a _mind_ Healer, for Merlin's sake.

Ensuring the bone was knitting together, he sealed the skin around it easily, casting a _tergeo_ to clean off the scabs forming around the wound. He stood back, tucking his wand into his pocket and nodding to Katie, who had inserted a needle into Potter's veins– a calming draught, Draco knew, from the smell of chamomile slowly flooding the room and covering the stench of injury in the air.

Potter's breathing slowed and regulated, Katie gingerly pulling her stained gloves off and casting them carelessly into a nearby bin. She gave one last look at their patient and beckoned for him to follow her. Draco slipped his hands into his pockets and stepped out after her. Potter's heartbeat was steady for now, he could survive a couple of minutes without them.

They stood just outside, in the corridor. Draco leaned back against the wall, watching Katie pace up and down. She paused mid-stride and turned sharply to him, tossing him a case file. "You take him," she said without preamble. She pointed to a scribbled passage stuffed into the file, running her finger down it before plucking it out, placing it on the top of the stack.

"Someone caught him in Kensington," she told him. "Cushioning charm– she claimed he was falling from the sky." She folded her arms and rested her head back beside him, looking at him exasperatedly. Katie pulled her wand out and tapped it to the cover of the file, printing his name on it despite Draco's weak noise of protest.

"Katie, we're mind healers," he whined to her. "This isn't–"

"Draco, Healer Rodriguez assigned it to our department." Her voice was sharp.

His eyebrows disappeared into his hair, looking down at the file in hand again. "We're short on staff, alright?" Katie exhaled slowly. She gestured to Potter's case file vaguely and rested her head in her hand, rubbing her temple slowly. "I'm sorry, Draco, but _everyone_ else has active cases."

Draco nodded reluctantly and re-entered the ward. The nurses looked up warily and scattered as he walked toward the bed, picking up Potter's wrist and checking the pulse.

Now they would wait.

* * *

><p>He took a deep breath, a sip of coffee and stepped into Potter's room.<p>

Draco greeted him, setting his cup down on the table next to the bed. "How are we today, Potter?" They knew each other, it was hardly appropriate to bother with the formalities. He drew up a chair and sat, resting his elbows on his knees. Potter didn't respond, sitting with his hands folded neatly in his lap and watching Draco with bright eyes.

"Potter, seriously," he tried again. "How are you?"

He shrugged and remained silent, staring condescendingly at Draco with a raised eyebrow. Irritation began to rise and he maintained a smile, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms. Potter grabbed some paper off the side table and ignored him, starting to write. Draco pulled his file into his arms and flipped through it, scribbling a quick 'unresponsive' in it. He shut it with a flourish.

"What game are we playing?" he asked.

Potter shot him a withering look. He raised his hand slowly to his throat, pointing and rolling his eyes at Draco as he did so. He folded the paper in his lap into a plane and threw it at Draco, pulling his blankets up and turning away. Draco rolled his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to concentrate. He refused to get mad at Potter in his first session. Breathe.

He unfolded the plane, peering at Potter's atrocious handwriting on the page. His head snapped up and he saw the green eyes watching him, unreadable. Potter snatched the paper from him and continued writing on it. Draco read carefully, disbelievingly.

_Can't speak.  
>Tried all morning.<em>

He buried his face in his hands for a minute. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he grumbled. Potter's shoulders shook a little at that and Draco glowered, picking up the file. It didn't matter if he was mute, he was still bloody well annoying. Potter grinned at him, but somehow the light– didn't quite reach his eyes? Draco handed him the coffee cup and more paper.

"You'll need it," he said, smirking. "Healer Bell will want to know more about this... strong and silent thing of yours." Potter's face fell and he buried himself back into the pillows, shooting Draco accusing looks from the nest of blankets.

Draco saluted him and crossed the room to the door quickly, bent on finding Katie. Circe be damned, he didn't know how to deal with a mute patient. He jumped back in slight alarm as Healer Rodriguez pushed the door open, stalking confidently across to Potter's bed and gesturing for Draco to follow him.

He cleared his throat and Potter sat up attentively. "Healer Mackenzie tells me you can't speak, Mr. Potter?" he looked to him for confirmation. He nodded slowly, confused. Draco eyed the tall man carefully, wary of Rodriguez' famously unorthodox methods of Healing. He shuddered thinking of the shock therapy they had tried on one of their patients while treating them for manic-depression. It was so... _muggle_, so terribly crass a method.

He handed Draco a thick, heavy book. "Learn it," he instructed Potter clearly. Draco nodded instinctively, looking down at it– _Sign__ Language_– the title read. In ominously black lettering. He paled slightly, shooting a worried glance at Potter, who mirrored him. Potter began to mutter soundlessly to himself. Healer Rodriguez turned and left the room with a pop of apparition.

Draco gritted his teeth at that. He was one of the only Healers without permission to apparate within the hospital, if only for the safety of the patients. (Read: Draco was an ex-Death Eater that could not be trusted with _everything_.) Potter tapped the wood of the bedside table gently to get his attention, throwing another plane at him.

_Cocky bastard, isn't he?_

"You have no idea," Draco moaned.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Decided to publish this chapter because I won't be able to produce any new material until January. Sorry!

Leave me reviews? Please?

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><p>Draco visited him again three days later.<p>

Potter was asleep when he came into the room, shifting in his sleep. He was breathing hard, twitching slightly– Draco dropped his books into a nearby chair and rushed to his side, shaking him as gently as possible. "Potter," he called, checking his pulse.

The records had warned him that Potter suffered from nightmares, but Draco had never seen him sleep. One of the mediwitches had told him he would stay awake until four in the morning, writing furiously in a journal Arthur Weasley had brought him. Draco had tried introducing a mild sleeping draught into Potter's food, but Mackenzie had told him all it did was calm him _slightly_. He watched him now and rolled his eyes at the irony, trying to get him conscious.

He gripped the brunette's arm tighter as his breathing quickened again. "Come on, Potter," he tried. He didn't wake, but began to struggle against Draco's hand– he would have to be spelled awake. As Draco reached for his wand, Potter's hand shot out and caught his shoulder, emerald eyes wide and terrified. He glanced between his own hand and Draco's face, slowly releasing his grip. His lips moved quickly– _I__'__m__ sorry_, he repeated, over and over.

"It's okay, shh," he mumbled. He worried about the nurses passing in the hallway, seeing a Healer talk to himself in the middle of the afternoon. He picked up a towel on the bedside table and wiped the sweat off Potter's forehead, carefully avoiding the stitched wound in his head. It was so ridiculously odd without his dark hair covering his face.

Draco moved slowly, prying Potter's fingers off and pushing them away. He sat on the bed gingerly and started changing the bandages on his leg, carefully keeping the silence while Potter calmed down. He glanced up, charming the dressing into place, and Potter was watching him wearily, raising his hand to salute him. Draco finished his diagnostic spells and nodded proudly to himself, turning his attention back.

"Alright, then, scarhead?" he smiled weakly, picking up his books from the chair and sitting down. Potter chuckled noiselessly and raised his hand, fingers dancing in the light. Draco raised an eyebrow and opened the file. He crossed out Mackenzie's note– _slow__ comprehension_– and snorted. He understood perfectly fine_._The book had only been left in his care since Tuesday afternoon– how much had he covered in three days?

Potter huffed impatiently and Draco's head snapped up. "Sorry, what?" Draco asked politely.

Potter repeated his pattern again, slower this time. He moved with the same grace he flew– Draco thought it didn't add up that Harry Potter had fallen off his broom for no apparent reason. However, their patient was being rather difficult– Healer White had been sent to him yesterday, unpleasantly hexed when she questioned him on his accident. As Potter finished his sequence looking very proud of himself, Draco clicked his tongue in disapproval. He locked eyes with Draco, annoyed.

"Je ne comprends pas, Potter," he replied with his best accent, shrugging apologetically. Potter just smiled smugly back, picked up a sheet of paper and scribbled, handing it over and sticking his tongue out. Draco flushed slightly, returning the gesture. It wasn't his fault Potter was a bloody overachiever.

_I'm fine. Don't worry._

"I wasn't worrying," he denied swiftly. Potter raised an eyebrow and grabbed a marker this time, the tip rustling along the parchment. He held it up, lips quirking into a condescending smile.

_Keep telling yourself that._

Draco glared at him, standing to fetch the tray of potions sitting atop a table opposite the bed. Potter held up another sheet, mock-gagging. He picked up the green one first, swirling it around and peering at it. It was a new one, from Draco's stores– to help stop the internal bleeding and cleanse the residue.

_Most of this tastes worse than Polyjuice._

He laughed. "Absolutely right, Potter," he shook his finger at him. "So next time, we'll try not to fall from the sky, won't we?"

Potter flipped him off and downed the potions in silence.

* * *

><p>He saluted Potter as he entered the room with a box of treacle tarts. He dropped into a chair and handed it over, setting to work on removing the plasters covering his torso. Peeling them off gently, he cast gentle cleansing spells and winced as Potter flinched away. "Sorry," he muttered, pulling another bandage off.<p>

Inhaling sharply, Potter shot an accusing glare, signing quickly as soon as Draco was looking up.

_It hurts, you bastard._

Draco cast a numbing charm in response, grimacing. "Where does it hurt worst?" he asked, glancing up briefly as he rewound fresh bandages around Potter's chest. The new bruises had been cleared, the deeper gashes finally closing properly and the bone reconstruction complete. If the head wound would just stay shut, he could probably be out within three weeks.

He applied pressure gently and Potter snatched his hand away, hissing in pain. "Sorry," he repeated. Draco stared down at his work and sighed. Katie had taken the nurses into her ward for psychiatric training, leaving all the Healers to carry out _their_ duties. He grumbled and vanished the used dressing, sitting down on the bed. Potter folded his arms and sat back, stilling dangerously as Draco worked, but his hand was flying.

_Are you quite done?_

Draco chose to ignore him, picking up Potter's profile and crossing his legs. Running his finger down the page, he poised his quill where White had let off. Her handwriting faintly resembled Potter's– he would probably have to ask her what it said later. "How's your head?"

He paused before replying, tracing his fingers along the stitches. His hair was beginning to grow back, giving him a strange bald strip down the side of his head. The long fingers twisted slowly this time, yet with an air of playfulness.

_Feels __like__ Hagrid __bashing__ it __in._

Draco smiled. He resisted the urge to call Hagrid an oaf and nodded sympathetically. "Anything else?" he pressed.

Potter pulled his left leg up to his chest and tapped it. _Much__ better._

"How so?" he was interested. The pain-relief potions must have been very effective.

_Doesn__'__t __hurt __any more._ Draco cheered silently. He had been developing a new painkiller in the hospital to replace the ones they got from Hogwarts– Madame Pomfrey– because they were only effective on the younger patients, since most had built a tolerance against it by graduation. Well, yes, Potter was only twenty-three (he would be twenty-four in two weeks time, Draco found out from the file. God forbid he forget the Chosen One's birthday.) but considering his lengthening list of potions he resisted...

_What?_

"What do you mean 'what'?" Draco asked, confused.

_Silent party in your mind?_

"Yes. Now stop gatecrashing it," he scolded. Potter grinned at him and opened the box.

Reaching over and stealing a tart, Draco scribbled his notes in the file. Rodriguez would want his report in a week's time and he wasn't about to lose his job over Potter. He put the quill between his teeth, drumming his fingers on the chair as he checked over the notes from Potter's other carers. A light tap on his shoulder got his attention.

_What__'__s __in __the__ file?_ Potter made to take it and Draco held it out of reach, tutting.

"You," he said, batting his eyelashes. "Lots of secret stuff about you. Healers only." Potter jumped to snatch it from him, but Draco held him down, holding above his head.

"_Healer__ Malfoy!_" White's voice rang through the room. Potter began to shake under him, laughing. Draco smacked his shoulder and stood up, tossing the file over the room to her. She scrambled to catch it, blushing furiously and straightening her robes as she stood back up.

Pulling herself to her full height, she stalked over and hauled Draco away from him, hands on her hips. He stared back down at her, arms folded, and shrugged. White sighed at him and turned to their (very amused) patient. She smiled back at him and took his hand.

"Are you alright, dear?" she cooed. Draco covered a smile with his hand, ignoring Potter's obvious discomfort. He sat straight-backed, listening carefully to her but otherwise unresponsive. Draco watched with interest– he was so silent now, allowing her to talk _at_ him. She continued to mollycoddle him for a good five minutes before he finally shot a pleading look at Draco, raising his hand.

_Make__ her __go__ away,_ he begged. Draco shook his head, leaning back against the wall.

"I'm so sorry, love, I don't do sign language," White replied him. Potter grabbed a pen off the table and scribbled on his hand. She blushed again darkly and got up immediately.

"Yes, of course– I didn't mean–" she stuttered, backing up toward the door. He was rubbing the ink off his skin, giving her a hurt look. She disappeared around the corner swiftly, trying to escape. Draco's lips turned into a suspicious smile, walking back over to the bed. Potter curled back up on the bed under the blankets, away from him.

"What did you write?" he questioned.

Potter didn't respond, his breathing slowing and eventually, he fell asleep. Draco gathered his things together and left the room silently. _Mood__ swings_, he noted down. He tried not to think too much about it– after all, it had been six years. They had all changed.

Perhaps Granger and Weasley would still be the same. He hadn't seen them around– apparently they were in Romania with Weasley's brother (the other Weasley. There were so many, Draco could hardly tell them apart.) and would only return for Potter's birthday. Lovely.

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><p><em>I want to try something. <em>

"Potter, don't you dare point that thing at me!" He backed away from the wand pointing at him. Potter rolled his eyes and caught Draco's arm, pulling him back into his chair. He repositioned his wand and Draco shook his head, moving his chair out of the way.

_Trust __me,_ he signed, letting go.

"You _hexed_ Mackenzie the last time this happened," Draco protested. Potter looked at him, exasperated, tugging on his arm. Draco looked into the determination and groaned, knowing he wasn't going to get away.

_Draco._

His eyebrows shot up into his hair. He was still holding tightly onto his cup of tea, ready to bolt away from a blast of energy, but he leaned toward Potter resignedly. "'Draco'? Really? That's your all-powerful convincing technique?"

_Fewer __letters __than __Malfoy,_ he signed, smiling. After a pause, he added, _call __me __Harry __if __you __like._

"No, thank you, I quite like Saint Potter," Draco huffed. Potter glowered. He gripped Draco's arm and a red glow lit the end of his wand, setting a sense of terror in Draco's mind. He was going to be stunned and Potter would run away and no one would ever find his body–

"Draco, shut up."

He snapped his eyes open and looked up in shock. Potter was grinning at him and crossing his arms proudly, setting his wand down on the table.

"How are you doing that?" he asked, jaw hanging open.

"Thought broadcasting," the brunette replied smugly. "Tiring, though." He dropped the connection and raised his hand again. _This__ is __easier_.

Draco just continued opening and closing his mouth like a fish while glancing between Potter's hand and his eyes, lit up with excitement. He pulled the file over and paused, hovering his pencil over the page. _Displays __advanced__ magic_, he finally wrote, glancing up at him while he filled in the blanks.

Potter picked up his wand, twirling it between his fingers. He sighed, seeming to mumble to himself before lifting his gaze to Draco's. Potter extended the wand out and opened his hand, looking meaningfully at him. He furrowed his brow and raised a brow in questioning, keeping his hands in his lap.

_Take__ it,_ Potter said. _It__'__s __yours._

His eyes went wide. "I can't," he replied quickly. Too many memories. That was the wand that killed the Dark Lord. It was the wand that couldn't kill Dumbledore. It was even the wand he had first cursed Weasley with in their first year. He saw the hawthorn sitting in Potter's outstretched palm, innocently lifeless as Draco continued to stare.

He was still sitting there holding out a weapon to him as if they hadn't spent years fighting each other in corridors, as if they hadn't nearly killed each other in sixth year, as if Potter hadn't risked his life to save his in their seventh. He bit his lip.

"I'm– I'm not a good person, Potter," he tried, keeping his voice steady.

"You've changed," the voice rang in his head. Draco looked up and Potter shrugged. Draco returned his gaze, trying not to fidget.

Potter took his hand and placed the wand into it, closing his fingers around it. It warmed slightly, coming back to life with the gust of familiarity. Potter was smiling gently.

"Thank you," Draco breathed, tucking it into his pocket.

_You deserve it._

"No, but thank you," he insisted. Potter nodded and reached over to his tray of food for another treacle tart. Draco snapped back and slapped Potter's hand playfully.

"You'll get fat, Potter," he admonished, stealing the tart and eating it.

_Nice__ try_. He grabbed another and Draco gave up, moving to leave the room. He fingered the wand in his pocket, not quite believing it was actually there. He chuckled to himself, thinking of Severus turning in his grave at the sight of Potter and him forming this sort of friendship.

He turned back to Potter. "Thanks," he repeated.

_No problem._

As he was just about to turn into the corridor, a paper ball hit him on the back of the head. Draco picked it up and continued walking, rolling his eyes at Potter as he left.

_Seriously, call me Harry. The Potter thing is weird._

* * *

><p>"Rise and shine, Potter," Draco drawled, shaking him awake.<p>

He rolled over, obviously having risen much earlier. Harry had dark circles under his eyes– the nurses had complained he had been awake late again. Draco sighed. As soon as his weight normalised and his sleep patterns improved, he would be able to send Harry home. His injuries were long healed, save for the new scar on his head.

Draco had been working with Katie to dissolve the scar tissue so that skin could grow over, allowing hair growth to occur again. He was rather enjoying the fact that he could tease him about the bald spot, though. It was ridiculously amusing when Harry tried to cover it up.

"Potter, you've really got to stop staying in bed all day," he teased, pouring him a cup of tea. Harry accepted it and sat up against the headboard, saluting him. Draco returned the gesture and stood at attention until Harry chuckled into the silence, standing him down. He raised his hand.

_Harry_.

"No, _you__'__re_ Harry. I'm Draco."

_Git._

"My ego is wounded."

Harry rolled his eyes and reached for his glasses. Draco pushed the miniature onto a plate and cast an engorgement charm to resize it, placing it on Harry's lap. He grinned deviously at Draco and swirled his finger in the icing, dragging it on Draco's cheek. Glaring back, Draco wiped the icing off his face and dumped it in Harry's hair, jumping out of range.

_How did you know I liked chocolate?_

"You don't eat anything else from the obscene amounts of sweets the Weasleys send you," Draco replied swiftly. Harry nodded thoughtfully, picking up a slice of cake. He was halfway through his second slice when Weasley and Granger walked in, hand in hand. Draco gagged and moved away, picking up his things so they could sit around the bed.

"Happy Birthday, mate," Weasley greeted him. Harry thanked him with a nod, mouth full. Granger pulled out a box and set it on his table. She sat primly on the bed, rubbing Harry's leg soothingly. "Happy Birthday, Harry," she wished him as well.

_How __are__ you?_ he asked them politely. Weasley answered first, "Charlie's back at home now, with his new boyfriend– mum went absolutely ballistic about it, I swear she thinks they're engaged or something." He gestured wildly, almost knocking over the potion drip. Draco hissed at him and Weasley backed away, hands in the air.

Harry frowned at him. _Don__'__t__ be__ rude,_ he said. Draco snorted and leaned against the bedpost.

"After Percy got married, Molly's been hounding him," Granger added to the story. The Weasley-Granger couple had been married for two years now, after a huge celebration. Judging from the slight bulge in her belly, he supposed that they would soon plan world domination with their ginger-headed children.

They talked about Quidditch and more Weasleys and Auror work at the ministry, Draco yawning awkwardly between topics. He contributed fairly, quietly, but Weasley seemed permanently suspicious of him, switching every time he spoke. Granger smiled pleasantly at him throughout the conversation, carefully including him. Harry kept up with them all, fingers flying to spell the words.

He had picked up a large vocabulary of words by now, using more complicated ones to communicate. Draco smiled to himself proudly– they had even managed to come up with a gesture that meant nothing but "prank Mackenzie", which took the form of charmed toilets, invisible post-it pads, instant darkness powder in his office and patient roster changes.

Finally, Weasley got a call on his telephone (Draco wouldn't admit it, but he enjoyed muggle television. Crime television.) and they left St. Mungo's together, leaving Harry with a second cake and a renewed arsenal of candy. Draco dropped into Weasley's recently vacated chair and surveyed him exasperatedly.

"Your friends–" Harry held up a hand to stop him.

_Don__'__t __talk __about__ them._ Draco frowned.

"Why not?"

_Don't want to._

"Alright," he dropped it suspiciously. Harry was slumped back against the back of the bed looking thoroughly exhausted. He offered him another potion from his own store– a particularly strong brew of pepper-up to keep him awake during his night shifts. Harry took it from him gratefully and took a swig, lying down in the bed properly and pulling the blankets up.

Draco leaned forward to rest his elbows on the bed. He ruffled Harry's hair patronisingly.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he said softly.

Harry rolled over and closed his eyes. _Thank__ you._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I now have two betas for this fic! :3 Many thanks to kittehonlsd and ravenwriting!

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><p>Another week in St. Mungo's and Draco thought Harry was recovering rather well. Until Laundry Day.<p>

He had just been on route to check on him when Ingrid, the nurse on duty, was washing his clothes– thanks to Granger, they no longer had house-elves within the hospital. It was unusual that Harry looked up like a deer in the headlights when he entered the room, shifting uncomfortably in the mint green of the hospital robes. Draco had looked on disapprovingly, suspiciously, clicking his tongue about the injustice it did Harry's eyes. The black shirts Harry wore worked much better, he had said. Harry did not respond.

Sitting, as he always did, in the chair beside the bed, Draco didn't miss that Harry had shifted ever so slightly away. He sipped his coffee indifferently and drew an underline under his previous note. Mood swings– he would speak to Granger when she visited next. Had Harry always had them? He scanned further down the page, checking off boxes diligently, barely noticing Harry's nervous glances toward the door.

Draco looked up, shuffling the parchment back into the folder and closing it gently. Harry had turned his worried gaze on Draco now, not saying a word. (_But he never says a word_, Healer Jones had insisted after monitoring him on Friday. Draco rolled his eyes; It was hardly Harry's fault Jones was a lazy bastard who didn't pay attention.) He propped his elbow on his knee and leaned forward, smiling gently. Harry's eyes had been empty then and he had barely returned his smile with a short sigh, pulling his knees up.

He panicked when Draco's fingers wrapped softly around his wrist, pressing onto the pulse point, and tried to wrench his hand free. Draco frowned, tightened his grip and stood, moving closer to Harry. Harry continued to shake his head violently, tugging against Draco's hand and trying to wriggle away.

"Harry," he said. He stopped moving and looked at Draco, begging to be released. Draco flattened his mouth into a line, not budging. Harry snarled quietly, pulling his wrist in. He grabbed his wand off the table and pointed it at Draco threateningly. (It was the holly wand, now, looking oddly foreign in Harry's hand.)

Draco took an instinctive step back, careful to keep his hand closed. Harry lips were moving, uttering something to himself, keeping his gaze matched with Draco's. He didn't dare to move, either, when Harry flicked his wand. He kept his grip steady on Harry's wrist, feeling for the wand in his back pocket and preparing to stun him if necessary. What the hell was he doing?

"Let me go," Harry's voice rang clearly in his head. Draco relaxed slightly in relief.

"No," he replied, sounding more confident than he was. Harry was an Auror. And his wand was still pointed straight at Draco's forehead.

"I said–"

"I need to check your pulse," Draco told him firmly. "It's not even going to hurt, Potter, you don't have to–"

"No," Harry said, imitating the glare Draco sent him.

"Harry." He slowly rolled Harry's hand over. The resistance had dropped slightly. Draco treaded carefully, shifting his fingers on Harry's wrist. _It'll be okay,_ he signed with his free hand, not looking away. It was delightfully liberating, Draco decided. He had never used the language before, but Harry's hands said more than words did. The tip of the wand trembled slightly.

"Fuck off," Harry said after a pause, softer this time. Draco raised his other hand to push the wand tip down, gripping his hand as well. He could've laughed– he was tending to Harry Potter, coaxing him with as much gentleness as he could muster now. His parents would have been proud of him, once, for making the right friends.

Now, it didn't matter so much. Harry flipped his own arm over reluctantly and Draco inhaled sharply, his fingers probably bruising his wrist now. "Oh," he breathed out. He couldn't look away, even as Harry spoke to him again.

"Surprised?"

"No," he replied defensively. Harry raised an eyebrow.

The gears in Draco's mind were turning rapidly, trying to fit pieces together. "I– Harry," Draco searched for the right words. He dropped his eyes back down to the scars, short and numerous. Some silence passed– he was sure he was staring, but there were _so many_. Harry broke his concentration and picked up his wand again, tapping him gently.

"It was a long time ago," he said, pulling back and hiding his arm in the sheets. Draco didn't reply, mentally adding to his own to-do list to find out what else Harry was hiding. Did the Weasleys know, then? He would be speaking to Katie about–

"No." Harry cut through his thoughts sharply. At Draco's withering look, he added, "Hermione."

"What about?" he asked, writing on the back of his hand. _Find girl Weasley,_ he wrote neatly, suppressing his shudder at the thought. Wouldn't the Holyhead Harpies be returning to England that weekend?

"She knows." Harry's voice was resigned now, but still clear. Draco turned away from him defensively and continued writing. _Consult Bell._ He felt Harry shift inside his mind again and pressed his lips together. He was used to having Harry in his thoughts, now, but he carefully erected his shields around his memories. He wasn't ready for that yet.

"Ginevra knows?" Draco asked belatedly, turning back to Harry. His presence slowly dissolved as Harry lowered his wand, leaving him feeling oddly bereft.

She_ wouldn't understand,_ Harry told him with his hands, his face crumpling slightly. Draco was slightly surprised, but reassured. The language was just familiar now, Draco mused, watching the letters and words come easily. When Harry signed, it was almost like they were friends.

Draco paused his writing and moved his gaze back up to Harry's eyes. They were steely, evaluating his every fidget, unmoving as they stared straight at him. So Granger knew. Draco tried to breathe again, reminding himself that Harry was a patient in their ward. He would speak to her about getting help later.

"Okay," he finally said, and Harry relaxed. Draco bit his lip and carried on with his examination, carefully casting the additional charms for the bruises on his wrist and pressing his fingers to the pulse point again. _It's okay_, he told himself. Harry would be fine, for now.

When he turned to leave, Harry caught his arm. _I trust you._

Draco wished he didn't.

* * *

><p>Harry was telling Draco about Theodore Lupin when she finally came to see him.<p>

He dropped his hands into his lap and fell silent, watching her warily. She was still dressed in her Quidditch gear, standing in the door and panting slightly. Gripping her wand in hand, her eyes flickered between Harry and Draco before she pressed her lips into a thin line and stepped into the room. She stalked over, her robes flowing around her and eyes narrowing dangerously. "Malfoy," she said, curtly.

Draco paused. He had expected this. "Weasley," he sneered back.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She shot out, moving to Harry's side and resting a hand protectively on his shoulder. Harry put a hand on hers and tried to get her attention, but she fixed her gaze resolutely on Draco's. Her tone was hostile– Draco could feel the slight simmer buried beneath the calm, brusque façade she exuded. He watched Harry carefully, slightly confused at how he had drawn away from her, the light slowly disappearing from his eyes again.

Damn. "I'm a Healer, Weasley." He desperately tried to keep the icy bite out of his voice, gesturing down to his robes only to realise he hadn't worn them. He cursed and picked up the case file from the bedside table, sitting beside Harry on the bed and extending it slightly.

She raised an eyebrow and Harry nudged him to continue. Draco repressed his urge to pronounce her an idiot. "I'm his main Healer here," he explained, careful not to roll his eyes. "So I've been taking care of this bugger for you." Harry shoved him gently but smiled, taking the file from him and putting it back on the table. Weasley just nodded.

They had built a strange fort of trust, where Harry didn't talk about his injuries and Draco didn't talk about the diagnoses Harry knew he was making. They spoke about family, mostly, Harry subjecting Draco to stories of the Weasleys and his godson, Teddy. Draco told him about England over the last few years while Harry talked about the countries he had visited– China, Saudi Arabia, Germany, Kenya and Spain, amongst others. Draco eventually found himself sitting in the room most of the day, just listening to Harry. Sometimes, he didn't even take notes.

Weasley made for the file and Draco moved to stop her, but Harry caught her wrist, pushing her back. She looked over, shock gracing her freckled face. He gave her a reproving stare and her arm relaxed, eyebrows raised. "What's wrong?" she asked him softly, pulling up a chair. She kissed him on the cheek and began to stroke Harry's arm.

Draco looked away, determined not to be thrown, but Harry pushed her away. Harry raised his hands into the air slowly, using only letters this time. _She must be new,_ Draco supposed. After all, Granger and Weasley were well up to par with it. Harry worked meticulously, fully forming his letters for once. Draco could have laughed, because Harry absolutely hated bothering with the precision. He rolled his eyes when Draco would chastise him– especially when he also knew that Draco understood just fine. _He's my–_

Then, she cut him off. Draco kept his gaze as cool as possible and fought not to chase her out.

"What are you doing?" she asked, completely intrigued by the dancing movements of Harry's fingers. Both men turned to her, mild shock playing on Draco's features. Harry seemed frozen for a moment before reaching over to the bedside table for a sheet of paper, watching her dully. Draco was rather confused now, watching them as the atmosphere dropped to an unnatural chill.

"He's mute, Weasley," he cut straight to the point while Harry wrote carefully, neatly. Her jaw fell open, reading over his shoulder. Draco rolled his eyes at her wide, obvious concern suddenly filling her demeanour. It felt artificial, he noted. Perhaps she hadn't even noticed anything was amiss when Harry began putting those scars on his body.

"Malfoy, whatever you're doing..." She had turned accusingly to him, but Harry underlined something he had written on the paper and she faltered, trailing off. "I don't trust him," she said to Harry, eyeing him stiffly. Harry took her hand, the paper slipping off his lap. Draco peeked at the sheet, curious. The fresh lines of ink still stood out clearly under the words. _He's my friend._

Harry snapped his fingers and Draco looked up. _Tell her about the injuries, _he said. _Keep it simple_, he added, giving Draco a meaningful look. He grinned back mischievously.

"All right," he said, pulling out the list. "In_ simple_ terms, Mrs. Potter, lots of broken bones, severe head damage resulting in loss of speech, some internal bleeding, interference in magic production." He read indifferently, trying not to let his voice waver with amusement as Weasley blushed. Harry paled slightly and closed his eyes, resting his head back. She ran a hand down the side of his face, muttering things like '_that's rotten, Harry.'_ and cooing at him.

Draco stood. "If you need me, Potter, I think you can send your patronus?" he asked delicately, trying not to interrupt Weasley's shower of affection. Harry cracked an eye open, his eyes filled with a strange kind of fear. Draco was watching Weasley again as she glared at him.

He smiled reassuringly back at her and gathering his things. Harry put a hand out to stop him, but Draco shook his head and pushed his hand off. "Don't," he protested weakly, his fingers barely grazing his wand to spark their connection.

_You haven't seen her in days. Merlin knows how you survived, _he signed back. Weasley's shoulders relaxed as he crossed the room to go. Draco felt a strange affinity to Hufflepuffs as he stepped out, leaving them alone. He glimpsed Weasley laying her head on his shoulder and grimaced, ignoring the bad feeling rising in his chest.

* * *

><p>Weasley visited him every day after that, so Draco was careful to only come at night, avoiding her glares whenever he passed in the hallway. Katie had assigned him a new patient, too, who was recovering from a surgery they had performed two days ago. Lilith had a muggle cancer– they didn't expect her to live past another week. She was only twelve, unusually sweet for a Slytherin. Draco avoided her, too, unable to look her in the brilliant green eyes and tell her she would be okay.<p>

He picked up the hordes of paper balls lying around Harry on his bed, carelessly crumpled and thrown aside as he spoke to her. Draco rolled his eyes, dropping them into the drawer beside the bed. Sometimes, he would catch glimpses of the conversation. _'I don't want to talk about that' _was used quite often, he noted, smoothing out the lightly worn edges of the scrap.

He placed a new stack of parchment beside the bed, dissolving his monitoring charm. He cast a _tempus_ and began to hum softly, tucking his equipment under his arm. Harry slept on, peaceful and oblivious, still wearing his glasses. Draco pulled them off carefully and set them on the table, checking Harry's face for any damage done from the metal.

He pulled the blankets up, feeling ridiculous. Draco knew Healer Rodriguez wanted to assign Harry a new Healer, now that the team was returning– his new schedule had already arrived in the office that morning. He would probably have to send his manual to whoever-it-was, unless it turned out to be Jones. He shuddered at the thought, patting Harry's slumbering figure sympathetically.

Draco put a box of tarts on the parchment, rolling his eyes at the sentimentality. _Don't eat them all at once_, he scribbled on the cardboard. He left the file sitting next to Harry's pillow, wiping his name off it. He left and didn't look back.

* * *

><p>On Thursday, Draco was on the way to the mortuary. Lilith had passed on that morning and her parents wanted him to dispose of the body immediately– he was rather surprised at the muggle pair, well-dressed in Wizarding robes and moving gracefully around her hospital bed when he arrived to determine the time of her death. He had grimaced at the paleness of her usually rosy cheeks, heavily reminded of Charity Burbage lying atop their dining table at the manor.<p>

He found himself in Harry's corridor, his footsteps echoing. It was still late afternoon, the nurses wouldn't return for the dinner rounds until evening. Stopping at Harry's door, he listened for the sound of Weasley's voice– she was much louder than he remembered, but all he could hear now was silence. He exhaled slowly and set off aga–

"Come in, you obnoxious stalker," Harry called. Draco swore and turned back.

"How'd you know?" he grumbled, pushing the door open. Harry sat up straight-backed, watching him with the same bright eyes as Lilith's. He swallowed and schooled his features into indifference, crossing the room and sitting in his chair. It felt different now, after his weeklong absence.

_Deductive powers,_ Harry said, placing his wand down on the bedside table. Draco rolled his eyes. They grinned at each other and Harry offered him a slice of watermelon from the plate in his lap, relaxing back against the pillows. Draco checked the equipment around the bed and nodded in satisfaction– Carson was new, but she was meticulous despite her reputation for incorrigible bedside manner. He turned to Harry again.

"Harry Holmes sounds awful," he drawled. Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

_That's muggle,_ he signed slowly. Draco shrugged, crossing his legs. Harry bit his lip. _It's just–_ he paused, thinking hard. _Unexpected_.

"You don't know much about me, Potter," he replied casually.

_What about your fiancée?_

Draco blinked in surprise. "How did you know about that?" Harry hadn't been back to London in years, between travelling the world and Auror missions. The engagement would have happened right after he left for India the first time.

_I read the papers, you know,_ Harry deadpanned. He rolled his eyes dramatically. _Honestly._

"I didn't know you could read," Draco retorted. Harry snickered and Draco raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

_You said that to Goyle once, _he smirked. _Second year._

Both eyebrows disappeared into Draco's hair now, slightly disturbed. "How do you know about that?"

Harry held up one finger and smiled cunningly. _One word. Polyjuice. _

Draco's jaw dropped, impressed. "_You?_" he said, sounding as scandalised as possible. "Are you absolutely sure you're not a Slytherin, Mr. Potter?"

_Sorting hat tried to put me in Slytherin,_ he said. Draco shook his head disbelievingly. "Nice try, Harry–"

_I begged it to put me anywhere but Slytherin._

"Why?" Draco asked curiously, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. Harry chuckled and shoved him gently.

_My favourite blond git was in Slytherin,_ he said. _God forbid we be in the same dorm._

Draco laughed. "I bet you say that to all the boys, Potter." Harry's face fell.

He stiffened slightly. _So. Your fiancée– Greengrass?_

"Yeah," he replied easily. "Daphne's sister."

_Marrying your friend's sister?_ Harry's lips quirked into a knowing smile.

"Shut up," Draco threw back. "As far as I know, your lovely girlfriend and friend are related too."

_That's..._ Harry considered it for a moment. _It's different_, he said, slightly resignedly.

"Is it?" Draco said, mockingly. He expected Harry to smile, but his eyes remained downcast. Draco began to worry.

_I love her,_ Harry finally said. _It's different._

Draco sighed and put his hands behind his head. "Story and I aren't in love," he told Harry. "It doesn't exactly matter."

_Story?_ Harry asked, smiling knowingly. Draco flushed.

"Her idea," he mumbled. "Before we were arranged."

_Isn't it lonely?_ Harry asked, softly. Draco didn't know exactly how Harry did that, making him _feel_. They weren't just gestures any more, not when he expressed himself with such a flourish. Draco shook himself out of it and focused on Harry's face again, noting the new worry lines. What exactly had Weasley been talking about all this time?

"It's not, really," he reassured him, ignoring the impulse to stand and run from the room. He was Harry bloody Potter, he wasn't about the share his secrets with him. "It's–" he searched for the right phrasing, remembering his endless conversations with his father. "Mutually beneficial."

_Draco–_

"No, it's just the way we do things. You couldn't understand," Draco said softly.

_Expectations,_ Harry said, after a pause. Draco nodded.

There was another long silence before Harry raised his fingers again. _You should go,_ he said. _The mortuary, right?_

Draco stood up abruptly, remembering. Casting one more worried glance back– what exactly was he trying to do?– he shut the door and hurried away.

* * *

><p><strong>P.S. <strong>New chapter for Refractions on Tuesday next week.

Leave me reviews, please?


	4. Chapter 4

The eagle found him in his office late on Monday.

Spotting the patronus, he stood immediately, grabbing his band off the table. Draco instinctively _knew_, setting off toward the East Wing before the bird could speak. Breaking into a light jog, he searched for the door– Harry had been moved on Friday, deeper into the hospital– until the clear voice of Weasley's distress bled into the corridor.

Rodriguez was there, holding him still and checking his pulse. Weasley looked up as he entered, surprise and hostility crossing her face as she gripped Harry's hand tightly. Draco rolled up his sleeves and stood beside the bed, ignoring her scandalised gasp at the Mark.

"Wake him," Rodriguez instructed, nodding at Harry's struggling form. Draco cocked an eyebrow, wand held in the air tentatively.

"Excuse me?"

He cringed at the withering look. "Wake. him." Rodriguez repeated slowly, reaching over to change the drip. "The stress is causing a spike in his pressure, we need to bring it down."

Draco nodded, still watching him warily. He reached out and closed his hand around Harry's arm, shaking him firmly. "Harry," he called as Harry thrashed against him, panting heavily with his eyes squeezed shut. Draco bit his lip and doused him in cooling charms in a futile attempt to calm him. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Weasley.

"My apologies," he said quickly before throwing a stinging hex.

She jumped and shoved him away. "How dare you?" she snarled, even as Harry's eyes flew open and he gasped for breath. He matched her burning gaze and moved her aside, handing Harry his glasses and reinforcing the cooling charms around the bed.

"Feeling better?" he asked softly.

Harry looked over, slowly calming and panic leaving the green eyes. _Draco,_ he mouthed, seeming shocked. Draco offered him a weak smile.

Rodriguez coughed importantly. "I'll leave you to clean up, Malfoy," he announced, leaving with a sweep of his robes. Harry looked at his retreating figure and laughed, his shoulders shaking.

"What?" Draco smiled indulgently.

_Just like Snape,_ Harry signed. Draco grinned despite himself, smacking his shoulder lightly. Weasley coughed dangerously and he sobered, backing away from the bed. She folded her arms expectantly, lips pressed together tightly.

"All yours," he bowed to her, stepping aside. "I'll be in my office."

She thanked him stiffly and sat down beside the bed, lacing her fingers with his. "I was so worried," she frowned. "He wouldn't let me help, I couldn't do anything..."

Draco blocked her voice out, tucking his wand away and leaving abruptly. He absently wondered about the trepidation on Harry's face, convincing himself it was just the nightmare. Weasley would deal with him, he thought to himself as he picked up a cup of tea on the way back. He would be fine.

* * *

><p>Early in the morning, he returned to the room, poking his head into the room. Harry sat awake, writing in the journal again.<p>

"Where's your wife?" he asked carefully, looking around.

Harry shut his book and straightened, a tired smile crossing his features as he rolled his eyes. _Don't call her that,_ he said. Draco shrugged and stepped in cautiously, draping his robes over the chair and seating himself on the bed.

"God forbid I offend the great Mrs. Potter," Draco muttered. Harry glared and he stuck his tongue out, folding his arms stubbornly. "Potter-to-be, then. Where is she?"

_Molly's,_ Harry told him. _With Charlie._

"Dragon Tamer Weasley?" Draco leaned forward, curious.

He nodded absentmindedly and turned his gaze to the robes on the chair, perfectly pressed. "Dress robes," Draco supplied, pulling the tie out of his pocket and dangled it in the air, winking. "I've a date in the morning."

_I'm so terribly jealous,_ Harry deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

Draco chuckled, pulling the robes on. "Get some sleep," he advised. "Carson will be back for you before you know it."

Harry slumped back against the pillow. _She's awful,_ he complained. _Absolute prat._

"It's a Healer thing," Draco told hims seriously, nodding. "Part of training."

Harry threw a pillow at him. _Will you be back tomorrow?_

"We'll see," Draco told him honestly, smiling. "Contrary to popular belief, Potter, my world does not revolve around you."

* * *

><p><em>I'm leaving next week,<em> Harry told him as he sat.

"Oh, finally," Draco replied, clutching his chest. "I thought you were never going to leave."

Harry shoved him and laughed. Draco began to gather the notes lying around him on his bed, clicking his tongue as he dropped them into the drawer.

"You're incorrigible," he said, glaring. Harry winced apologetically, helping him put them away.

"Why doesn't she understand?" Draco asked him, looking up.

Harry froze for a moment. He sighed thoughtfully and Draco watched as he rearranged the blankets aimlessly, fidgeting as he worded his answer. Flicking the last paper ball into the drawer, he gazed out the window. _I don't know,_ he admitted. _Seems odd, doesn't it_?

"Sorry," Draco replied hurriedly. "I didn't mean–"

_No,_ Harry held his hand up. _It's okay._

Draco watched him as he wrote, as they sat in silence. Weasley would return soon, and then he would be gone.

* * *

><p>Draco leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.<p>

"Honestly, one would think you've been here for years," he rolled his eyes as Harry swept the room again, 'just in case'. It was rather odd, seeing him standing around, a leather bag slung casually on his shoulder. He turned around and grinned.

"How's your leg?" he asked.

_Brilliant,_ Harry replied, slipping out the door. Draco turned to follow him, speeding up to match his pace. He walked beside him in a comfortable silence, turning corners hurriedly until the Atrium finally came into view. Harry turned to him, gripping his wand so tightly his fingers were white.

Weasley was there, waiting for him with a wide smile on her face. Harry hesitated before walking down the steps. He paused. _This feels so weird,_ he told Draco, holding on to the railing tightly. Draco shrugged and raced ahead of him, winking as he approached her.

"Weasley," he greeted. She ignored him, calling over his shoulder. "Harry!"

He waved and she ran past him, throwing an arm around his neck. He automatically lifted his hand, but dropped it. "Hi," she breathed, oblivious. "Good to see you."

Draco sighed. "See you around, Harry," he said, moving to return to the wards. Weasley wrapped her arms snugly around Harry's waist protectively and he rolled his eyes, seeing Harry pry himself from her grasp, shaking his head.

* * *

><p>Harry reached out to catch his arm just as he reached the archway. <em>Wait,<em> he said urgently. _I need your help._

"Help?"

_Interpret,_ he said. _Help her understand. _Draco stiffened and leaned away, resting against the railing.

He glanced over at Weasley, glaring daggers at him. "I'm not sure you want–"

_Please, _Harry begged. _It's important._

"Can't Granger help you?" Draco protested weakly and pointed to the redhead tapping her foot at the bottom of the stairs. "She hates me. Or that spell of yours–"

_Draco,_ he said. _I need your _help_._

He bit his lip and hesitated. "All right," he conceded. "But don't blame me if it fucks up."

Harry exhaled in relief. _Come on,_ he said, leading him back down.

"What is it?" Weasley asked him as they joined her. Harry gestured to Draco and began.

"Harry, we don't have time, we'll be late to the planner's..." she trailed off as Harry began to speak.

"I don't want to get married," Draco read, eyeing Harry questioningly. "You sure, Potter?"

Weasley jerked in surprise. He coughed loudly.

Harry shot him a withering look and he quieted. "I'm not ready," Draco said to her, reading carefully.

"Look, Malfoy, I don't care–"

"That's what _he_ said_,_" Draco snapped. "He's not ready."

Weasley faltered, understanding filling her gaze. "I– I can wait, it's alright–"

Harry shook his head.

She folded her arms and shifted her weight, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean, then?"

"I don't want to get married," Harry said again.

"Look–"

"You deserve better." Draco fought to keep his voice neutral. Harry continued, ignoring Weasley's growing flush, just as dark as her hair.

"Harry, I don't _want _anyone else."

"But I'm no good for you– I'm sorry, Potter, but that's bullshit," Draco turned on him.

_You're supposed to be interpreting,_ Harry responded coldly.

"And you're supposed to be the Chosen One, with your wife and your... _gaggle_ of children," Draco said coolly. Weasley reached out and cupped Harry's cheek.

"It doesn't matter if you're no good," she said softly. "I love you, you know."

"And he loves you," Draco told her, mock-gagging at Harry. "But it's not enough."

Weasley paled dramatically. She nods slowly, trying to bite down something. "Okay. Okay, what do you want, then?"

Harry responded confidently, tapping his wrist twice. "Just... time."

She pulled away from him immediately, as if she had been burned. "I'm _always _waiting," she whispered. "Harry, this isn't fair."

"He knows," Draco said, crossing his arms protectively. Harry reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

_Thank you._

"Don't– Harry, I don't understand," Weasley pleaded. "I don't understand at all."

Harry tried to reassure her, carding his fingers through her hair before she pushed against him, wrapping her arms around herself.

As she apparated away, Draco exhaled in relief before rounding on Harry. It was over "What the fuck, Potter?" he hissed. Harry pulled his cloak tighter around himself, looking oddly small. He readjusted his bag and began to head for the door. Draco caught his sleeve.

_It's none of your business,_ Harry told him, shoving him off and walking resolutely down the stairs.

"It bloody well _is_," he argued to Harry's back. Harry stilled and Draco held his breath, waiting for him to speak. He turned, fidgeting with his bag.

_I'll see you around, Malfoy,_ he said, distant. And then, with a soft crack, he was gone.

* * *

><p>As time passed, Draco noticed how much <em>noise<em> there was.

He heard every click of his teaspoon against his cup, the shuffle of papers from Katie's office, the soft chatter in the wards as he passed through them, footsteps echoing in the Atrium. He heard the nurses whispering to each other, gossiping as they passed him. He heard the sound of Owls arriving in the morning, the sweep of robes around his fellow Healers.

Above all, he never noticed how much his patients spoke– each spoke with a clearer accent than the one before, louder, more animated. They told him their woes, their fears. The quieter ones would protest in shouts, cringing away from him. Draco sat in his office now, with a cup of tea, noting the clink of china as he lifted it to his lips.

They were too careless, too ineloquent. Harry's hands moved with a grace none of them had. He found himself signing to them, sometimes, watching the odd looks cross their faces. Draco sighed, looking at his treacle tart.

Perhaps he would write Potter. It has been a few weeks, now.

* * *

><p>Draco hated walking. He left the Greengrass' house far behind him, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked through muggle London. They passed, eyeing him warily as he rearranged his robes. He kept his gaze straight ahead, indifferent, but closed his fingers around his wand and glanced around, alert.<p>

Someone was following him. The feeling crept up on him, cradling him and lulling him into a dangerous sense of suspicion as he travelled, walking steadily faster to the apparition point. He ran a hand casually through his hair, sneaking a glance behind him. All muggles– all in their autumn wear, flitting through the small crowd.

The women were chattering, their bizarrely shaped bags with metal clasps clinking against each other. Draco wrinkled his nose and carried on, pushing past a burly man standing in the middle of the street. He spotted the apparition point hidden in the shadows ahead and hurried forward.

He felt the trip jinx as he stumbled and cursed silently as the muggles turned to look, curious. He offered them a smile of reassurance and dissolved it quickly. He was almost there–

As soon as he stepped into the shadows, he heard a low growl of an unfamiliar spell. It slammed into his back and knocked him into the ground, well concealed and barely audible. The attacker, masked, pulled him up by his hair.

"Who are you?" he snarled at Draco, his breath smelling distinctly stale.

"Malfoy," he spat out. "Draco Malfoy." He felt the pain spread slowly and he worked quickly to numb it, grip still firm on his wand.

A second appeared by the first's side. "Malfoy?" he asked in a small voice. Draco shot him a withering look.

They ran from him then, leaving him to lie alone. He snorted, rolling himself over carefully. The war was six years past, now, never mind he hadn't fought. Never mind that his father was already dead.

"_Expec–"_ he coughed as the numbing charm was overpowered. "_Expecto patronum,_" he muttered, watching it dance away from him, praying that it would find someone at the hospital. Praying that it would be Katie– he really wasn't in the mood to talk to Jones.

It was quiet here, in the darkness. Just like Potter, his mind supplied randomly.

With that thought in mind, he slowly slipped out of consciousness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** It's been a short while, hasn't it? Anyway, please do leave me reviews if you're reading and interested, because I'm writing multiple chaptered fics at the same time– it helps me prioritise.

I'll have a new chapter for you next week. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **As usual, thank you to ravenwriting and kittehonlsd on tumblr for the betaing.

* * *

><p>"–aco, come <em>on<em>," someone hissed in his ear.

He was vaguely aware of the pressure on his chest, rhythmic and uncomfortable. Katie shuffled around the room, barking orders at the trainees. Draco's head was pounding– he must have fallen asleep during Observation again– and he fought to pry his eyes open. He quickly shut them again and cringed away from the bright white light overhead, blinding him.

It was a hospital bed, he could feel it. Draco tried to grope around for his wand, squeezing his eyes shut against the light and attempting to sit up until Katie pushed him back down. "Don't you dare," she told him, her voice deathly calm. He fought to see her past the light, hair was sticking up in odd places, her robes bloody as she bent over the bed again–

"Katie," he croaked out, craning his neck to address her. "What happened?"

"You tell me, Draco," she said, not looking up from her work. She was stitching something, he could see the telltale pink glow of her wand. He frowned, dropping his head back onto the pillow and let out a soft moan at the pain.

"Healer Malfoy?" A redheaded trainee popped into view, eyes shifting nervously to Katie as he spoke. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine," Draco replied swiftly. "I'd like a pain-reliev–"

"Leave him, Peter," Katie shot, cutting him off. "I've got it."

He cringed and ducked out of her glare, sending an apologetic look at Draco as he turned and left, leaving them alone. Draco turned to her, annoyed.

"What is going–"

"Can you feel that?" Katie asked him suddenly. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Feel what?"

"That," Katie repeated. Draco shook his head slowly, confused.

"What are you talking abo–"

"How about that?" She asked, softer this time. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten, trying not to lash out at her, taking deep breaths. How could someone so bright be so marvellously thick at a time like this?

"No, I can't feel that," he told her, keeping his tone neutral and his face blank. "I have no idea where you're going with this."

"Look at this," she offered him a hand.

He took it and sat up slowly, falling back against the pillows when he tried to push himself upright. Dismissing it, he looked to Katie again. "What am I looking at?"

"Here," she hesitated, resting a hand on the bed. He followed her arm slowly, finally spotting–

"Oh, dear Merlin," Draco breathed, spotting the large needle sticking out of his leg.

"You can't feel it?" Katie asked, biting her lip. "Not at all?"

He tried to move his leg out of the way, unable to budge at all. Draco turned to her, horrified. "You're joking."

She pulled the needle out roughly and showed it to him, sitting clearly in her palm, bloodied and sparkling under the light. He couldn't breathe as the memories washed over him– the alley, the attack, his patronus–

"What's happened to me?" he got out, barely above a whisper.

Katie finished the Healing charms on his wounds and looked at him sadly. She walked over, putting a hand behind him. She pressed against his spine, unwillingly locking her gaze with his.

"No," he said, willing her to be lying.

"It cut you here," she explained, undeterred. "You'll heal, of course."

He studied her face and his eyes narrowed. "But?"

Her shoulders sagged. "It'll take months– we would normally send you to your family for therapy, but–"

"I have no family," he finished for her, picking up his wand and exploding a vase across the room.

* * *

><p><em>Potter,<em>

_I'm not quite sure why I'm writing this to you._

_Merlin knows how you survived this place for so long, it's absolutely awful. Nothing to do, really, except stare out that lovely window and write in your journal, is there? _

_Perhaps you've reconciled yourself with Ginevra– I hear that you were in Diagon Alley with her just last weekend. _The Prophet_ reported your story quite eagerly, although I'm not sure that you were 'proclaiming your love'– speaking of which, you _have_ finally taught her to sign, haven't you?_

_Katie just told me it'll probably be March or later before they let me out of here. Pray for my sanity, won't you?_

_DM_

* * *

><p>It wasn't so bad– Draco rather enjoyed that he could still travel through the corridors to visit his office and library in his condition, to join his colleagues for lunch. He enjoyed being able to sit in the gardens, to fetch his own coffee, he even began to enjoy the sound of Rodriguez' endless nagging when he was working. But he hated wheelchairs.<p>

He _hated_ them. It was ridiculously tiring, having to propel himself along the corridors. His wheelchair creaked ever so lightly, resounding in the empty spaces as he moved through them. They reminded him that he was weak, that he wasn't _normal_ anymore. And he hated it.

Katie pushed him around most of the time. Sometimes, he continued to see his patients, sitting opposite them in his chair as they rambled on about their lives. He grew to like the sound of their voices, taking careful notes as they spoke. He read more, books piling up in his room. It was better than the deafening silence in the room, staring listlessly at the wall opposite.

He might have hated wheelchairs, but in that space, in the dead of night, he was completely alone. And he hated that, too.

* * *

><p>The atrocious script graced him as he was wheeling about in the cafeteria. Draco rolled his eyes as he received it, setting aside his cutlery before unfolding the paper crane.<p>

_Draco,_

_Gin isn't speaking to me, so no, I haven't. _

_What's happened to you? _

_HP_

_Bastard severed my spine._

_DM_

* * *

><p>He didn't have any visitors, so Draco would normally just sit and write.<p>

After assigning countless journals to his patients, he finally understood how therapeutic it was– escaping into a world of his memories where his fears and sorrows were his and his alone. He wrote pages of the war, of his father, of his fiancée, of musings, of himself. He rather enjoyed it.

But then, she came along.

"_Pansy?_" he asked disbelievingly.

She stood in the doorway, arms tightly folded. Her lips were pressed into a tight line as she slowly stepped into the room, standing at the foot of his bed. Her hair was longer, loosely falling over her shoulder. The lines on her face were fresh, the circles under her eyes betraying her lack of sleep.

"Draco," she said tightly.

"Where have you been?" Draco asked her, mouth agape. She had been missing for months, disappearing right after the war. Pansy shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, pulling her gloves off and seating herself on the edge of the chair beside the bed.

"Ireland," she admitted after a pause. Draco's eyes widened, surprised.

"Ireland?"

"Mother has some relatives there," she explained carefully. He ignored her obvious discomfort, pressing on.

"Why are you here, then?"

"I heard," she said softly, placing a hand on his leg. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"From Dad," she explained. "He– Well, he works with the Ministry now."

"Oh," he replied, not knowing what to say. Pansy began to chuckle.

"Draco, I do believe you're losing your touch," she teased. "Speechless already?"

"Oh, sod off," he glared.

She grinned at him and he smiled weakly back. "How have you been, Draco?" she asked him softly.

"Okay," he replied honestly.

"Blaise thought you'd have returned to Hogwarts," she nudged him. "Mr. Potions Master."

"Blaise?" he smiled knowingly. She flushed darkly and he laughed.

"Honestly? I'm glad," Draco told her, folding his arms. "He could never shut up about you."

She grinned widely and Draco leaned back against the pillows, grinning at her.

"I missed you," he said softly.

"I missed you too," she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"Are you back for good?" he grabbed her hand as she stood to leave.

"Yes," she turned back with a genuine smile. "I'll see you around."

* * *

><p><em>Draco,<em>

_Your case came in this morning. Ron is rather excited, it's been a while since we've been on the field. Trust you to get yourself hit by a severing curse, really. _

_Don't they normally send you home to heal, though?_

_Praying for the sanity of your Healers,_

_HP_

* * *

><p><em>Harry,<em>

_Don't be daft, my parents are dead._

_DM_

* * *

><p><em>Draco,<em>

_Last I checked, so are mine. Didn't stop you lot from kicking me out._

_HP_

* * *

><p>Pansy didn't come back, but Draco began to get restless.<p>

Katie made it a point to visit him once a week, every Monday, bringing him one of the books sitting in her office. She wouldn't stay long– perhaps an average of twenty-four minutes before she left him again, promising him another the next week.

He liked that he didn't see the pity in her eyes– no, Katie was worried, but she _believed_. It was so ridiculously Gryffindor, he thought, ploughing through it all headfirst.

Draco wondered what it was like for Potter, not being able to speak. Sometimes, he would remain silent, signing to her– she rarely spoke back, nodding as if she understood. Draco would sigh in resignation and begin talking again, uncomfortable with the feeling in his throat– as if the voice wasn't right.

Monday came and he waited for her to settle into her seat before he finally spoke.

"Do you believe in heaven?"

She choked on her sip of water. "Excuse me?"

"If I'm going to die, might as well be on the way to paradi–"

"You're not going to die," she told him firmly, gripping the edge of the bed until her knuckles turned white. "I told you, you'll heal–"

He snorted and cut her off. "Not bloody likely, Katie."

She glared at him, her lip still trembling slightly. "Draco," she pulled her robe tighter around herself and laid a hand on his arm. "You'll be okay."

"If you say so," he said dismissively, turning away from her.

Katie stood shakily and walked away. "You'll be fine," she repeated before leaving.

Draco wished he believed her.

* * *

><p><em>Harry,<em>

_Why in the name of Merlin would you subject yourself to that god-awful Ministry Gala?_

_Draco  
><em>_P.S. You look terrible in that shade of red. _

* * *

><p><em>Draco,<em>

_Sod off. _

_Harry  
><em>_(The robes were Hermione's idea.)_

* * *

><p><em>Harry,<em>

_Shame. I thought Granger had better taste._

_Draco_

* * *

><p>Eventually, Mackenzie suggested he try drawing.<p>

He tucked his pencil behind his ear, snorting at the drawing. It was terrible– Draco had always preferred to seat himself before the piano, after all. Looking away from the disfigured circle on his paper, he glanced at the clock. Sixteen minutes had passed.

Draco tucked his sketchbook away as footsteps came down the corridor, arranging his blankets around him. It was about time she came back, he supposed, it had been a while. Three hours and twenty-four minutes.

He frowned as she paused in the doorway, waiting for the telltale shuffle of her robes. She was speaking to someone– about what? Draco quickly dismissed it, feigning disinterest as she approached again.

"Mackenzie," he nodded as she entered the room with a tray of food. She sighed and set it down, sitting on the bed. Draco tried to move aside, inching his torso along.

"How are you?" she inquired politely, casting her diagnostic and noting his levels down in her file. Draco picked up his tea and took a large sip, ignoring the burn in his mouth. He felt the warmth spread, coming to an abrupt numbness where his legs should have been.

Mackenzie watched him, worried as he continued to gulp the tea down. Draco considered her, matching her green gaze as she continued to wait for an answer.

"I'm fine," he lied, calmly matching her gaze. "Much better."

* * *

><p>The next reply seemed hurried, as if he had been rushing off in the middle of a mission. Perhaps he was reading to much into it; One could hardly blame Potter for regressing in penmanship over the years.<p>

_She says thanks._

– _H  
><em>_Hope you're feeling alright._

* * *

><p>Mackenzie's footfalls were heavier and slower than usual– Draco didn't look up, finishing the entry in his journal. He was hardly eager for the tray of potions he knew she would have, smiling apologetically as always.<p>

She inched the door open, hesitating. Draco shut his book and set it aside.

"Come on," he called loudly. "I don't bite, you know."

She poked her head in and– _oh._ Draco abruptly snapped his mouth shut and stiffened, watching him enter the room, hands shoved into his pockets.

"Oh, it's you," Draco said, clearing his throat and feigning disinterest. "Merlin, I thought you'd never come."

He rolled his eyes and grinned.

_Nice to see you, too._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Leave me a review? Please?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Ack, I'm really sorry this update took so long. I've been buried up to my eyeballs in work and essays. ):

Left you on an implied ending last chapter, that was rather fun! Did you like it?

* * *

><p>Harry had his hands in his pockets, grinning conspiratorially– <em>Surprised?<em> he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Always," Draco turned to survey him properly, sighing in exasperation. He looked remarkably different– the unhealthy pallor had disappeared, untidy mess of black hair falling into his eyes. He frowned at the damp Auror robes, hanging open on his shoulders and slightly stained with blood.

Harry followed his gaze to the dark red patch. _Stakeout_, he said simply, shrugging. _It happens._

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're anaemic, Potter," he said, lowering his voice dangerously. "Please tell me you've seen a Healer."

_I have,_ Harry agreed lightly. He winked as he dropped into the chair beside the bed. _You._

"For Merlin's sake!" Draco hissed.

_Relax,_ Harry said, patting his arm and rolling his eyes. _I'll be fine, Hermione's seen it._

"The great Harry Potter is going to be defeated by a fainting spell," Draco grumbled.

Harry laughed and patted his head. _Don't miss me too much._

Draco swatted his hand away and glared. Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a box of sweets, dropping it into his lap. It looked expensive, black leather embossed with the Honeydukes logo– he looked up at Harry, eyeing it suspiciously.

_I'm delivering a gift,_ Harry stated, bowing his head mockingly.

Draco nodded– he supposed it made sense, Harry coming to visit him. It was rather welcome, since Mackenzie didn't seem to be returning to the room. He played with the ends of the bow, raising an eyebrow in questioning.

"What's this?" he asked warily.

_A gift, of course,_ Harry deadpanned.

"How thoughtful," Draco simpered, pulling on the gold ribbon. Harry snorted and he looked up, confused. "What?"

_It's not from me,_ Harry told him. _Astoria sent it. _Draco's eyes widened and he paused.

"Astoria?" he questioned, the alarm bleeding into his voice.

_She's working with the Ministry now,_ Harry said, slowing into suspicion. _Saw her at lunch today._

Draco continued unwrapping gingerly, cautious. Astoria wasn't known to send gifts, certainly not of the pleasant nature. Last christmas, he'd found a particularly vicious kneazle wrapped in a box, only too happy to leap out and destroy his cashmere sweater.

He peeked inside, breathing a sigh of relief at the number of innocent-looking chocolates inside it. "Thanks," he said, setting it aside.

_Potion smuggling, Draco?_ Harry asked him, looking scandalised.

_Completely clean, Auror Potter,_ Draco responded in kind, rolling his eyes. It felt odd, using sign language again. Harry's fingers still moved with the same grace, dancing through the air.

_You're stiff,_ Harry said, reading his mind. Draco blushed slightly and turned away.

"Not everyone's an overachiever," he retorted weakly. Harry chuckled.

_Perhaps not,_ he smirked. He cast a _tempus_ and groaned, heaving himself off the chair.

"Where are you going?"

_Robards wants me back at six,_ Harry said, stretching himself out.

Draco clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Slacking, Auror Potter."

_You like it,_ Harry grinned, moving towards the door.

He hesitated as Harry searched for his wand in his pockets. "Thanks for this," he finally said, gesturing to the box beside his bed.

_No problem,_ Harry shrugged. Then, he was gone.

* * *

><p>"Don't you have a job to do? At all?" Draco asked, not looking up as Harry came in.<p>

The third time this week, he noted down. He vaguely wondered if he'd brought any of those cakes from the Ministry, the sugar-coated ones– he had decided he quite liked those, sweeter than the scones at St. Mungo's. Harry sighed and sank into the chair, dark circles under his eyes. His nose was purple around the edges.

"What happened to you?" he asked, exasperated.

_Ginny came home yesterday,_ Harry said, as if it explained everything.

He cocked an eyebrow, but didn't pause writing. "Back together, then?"

Harry snorted and shook his head. _Got the worst Bat-Bogey Hex of my life, more like._

"Ah," Draco nodded in understanding, finishing his paragraph.

_She decked me, too,_ Harry supplied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Weaselette resorts to violence," Draco sighed.

_Deserved it,_ Harry told him, shrugging again.

Draco rolled his eyes, not bothering to correct him. "Is she still at your place?"

_She's at the burrow,_ Harry rubbed his left temple. _Probably leaving with the Harpies tomorrow._

"I see," Draco said dismissively.

_Hurts like hell,_ Harry complained, touching the purple spot lightly.

"How is it?" he asked, seeing the blossoming bruise on his face.

_You've done worse, haven't you?_ Harry rolled his eyes. _It's fine._

Draco flattened his lips into a hard line, suspicious. "Where else?"

_Shoulder,_ Harry said, amused at his concern. _Ron found out last night._

"The horror," Draco sighed sympathetically.

Harry nodded and leaned his head back on the chair back, exhaling slowly. Draco watched him carefully, not speaking a word. He picked his tea off the bedside table and sipped until Harry pulled out his wand, gripping it weakly.

"I didn't really expect to end up like this," his voice rang clear in Draco's head, but it was resigned, lonely.

"Like what?" Draco asked him.

"I thought maybe I'd be killed in the war," Harry replied honestly. "Not alive at twenty-four and bored out of my mind."

"What about the Aurors?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Can't do much," Harry admitted after a thoughtful pause. "Need to speak."

A pause. "In retrospect, half the Auror force talks too much," he added.

Draco laughed and Harry shot him a questioning look. "You could never be boring, Potter," he reassured him. "Let's see. Unicorns, two-faced men, basilisks, hippogriffs–"

"All right," Harry cut him off, smiling. "Enough for a lifetime."

"Isn't it?" Draco asked him, reaching down and stealing the muffin from Harry's bag. "More than enough."

Harry dropped the connection but he looked out the window. _Perhaps,_ he mouthed. Draco pretended he didn't see, opening his sketchbook again. He pretended he didn't notice when Harry stood and left, too, leaving the sugar rolls behind on his seat.

* * *

><p>The bruise had already faded when Harry returned to the hospital without his uniform.<p>

"Afternoon," Draco nodded to him, working through his potions text. It was a new one, based on Severus' work– it rather amazed him how much his godfather had known but never said.

_Why are you here?_ Harry asked him randomly.

"Excuse me?" Draco looked up, confused.

_Here, I mean. _Harry gestured to the room. _You _do _have relatives, don't you?_

Draco paused, staring at his legs. He barely remembered the feeling anymore, but he was able to sit up straighter since the injury– he was healing. It was rather encouraging, though he would never admit that out loud.

"Estranged aunt," he said softly. "That's the only 'family' I've got."

_Andromeda?_ Harry raised an eyebrow.

He nodded. "Haven't seen her since the war."

Harry drummed his fingers on his jaw thoughtfully. _Why not?_

Draco shrugged, avoiding Harry's gaze. She was intimidating, reminding him of Narcissa. Slim, proper and sharp, always sitting primly in their greenhouse when she came for tea. Father had never liked her, but she had always managed to slip in twice a year to see his mother.

But his mother was dead. "She won't have me," he tried to phrase it ambiguously, shifting uncomfortably in the bed.

_What makes you so sure?_ Harry asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair. Draco leaned back against the pillows and folded his arms, hiding the Dark Mark.

"Wrong side of the war, remember?" he replied bitterly.

_That was a long time ago,_ Harry protested.

"If only everyone was as forgiving as you, then," Draco shot back sharply, meeting his gaze. "It's not that easy, Chosen One6."

Harry winced. _Sorry._

Draco's eyes softened. "It's not your fault," he admitted. "It's just–"

Harry waved him off. _It's okay._

"It's not," Draco retorted. Harry looked at him sadly.

_I'll talk to Andromeda,_ he said.

"It isn't about her," Draco replied, rolling his eyes.

_I know. I'll still talk to her,_ Harry shrugged and continued.

"Don't," Draco put a hand on his arm. Harry watched him carefully and Draco remained resolute, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

_If you say so._

"I do," Draco nodded.

* * *

><p>He received a present from Astoria by owl two days later. It seemed odd, as if something were about to happen, but he ignored the feeling and tried to suppress the urge to contact her. Harry brought him something every day, now – a book, cake, specimen to draw – and he was rather pleased.<p>

Pansy finally returned, too, her hair cut abnormally short. She looked taller, somehow, dressed in muggle clothing. She stalked in and dropped her weight on the bed, pulling off her gloves in a huff.

"Your _hair,_" Draco tutted. She ran a hand through it, sighing.

"Daphne cut it for me," she whined, leaning against him.

"Drunk and blindfolded?" Draco laughed, picking through the choppy strands.

"You've no idea," she groaned. "She's pants at charms."

"You let her," Draco patted her arm unsympathetically.

Pansy glared at him. Draco shrugged and she swatted lightly, slumping back against his pillows. "You should move in with someone," she told him. "A friend."

"All of you are bent on freeing me, aren't you?" he joked lightly. Pansy reached an arm behind her head.

"Who else?" she asked casually.

"H– Potter," he said, catching himself.

"Could've moved in with me," Pansy rest her head on his shoulder.

Draco looked at her curiously. "Are you offering?"

She snorted. "I can't. Blaise would hate it."

Draco laughed. "Merlin forbid I infringe on your romantic endeavours."

Pansy sobered and surveyed him carefully, opening and closing her mouth as she looked for the right words. "What about Potter, then?" she asked seriously, after a pause.

"You're kidding," Draco responded flatly. "We're hardly friends."

"Not from what I'm hearing," she snickered, pushing herself to her feet. Draco raised an eyebrow and Pansy winked deviously. "You've got yourself a crush on Harry Potter, haven't you?"

"I'm engaged, Pans," he rolled his eyes.

"And in love with Potter," she sang.

He scoffed. "Ridiculous."

"Hardly," Pansy assured him. "Everyone's always thought so."

"Incorrigible, then, all of you."

She shrugged, unaffected. Draco huffed in exasperation.

* * *

><p>Harry brought his godson to the hospital for a checkup once, visiting him as they waited for sample analysis results. Remus Lupin's son did possess certain lycanthrophic qualities, constantly chewing on his tongue by accident around the full moon.<p>

Teddy Lupin was a rather curious child, always asking to_ touch _everything. Draco had him in his lap, arms circling him awkwardly as Harry went to call for a nurse.

"My papa was an Auror once," Teddy was telling him.

"He taught me in school," Draco supplied softly, remembering seeing Remus Lupin spread-eagled on the floor of Hogwarts. "He was a good teacher."

"Harry thinks so too," Teddy seemed pleased, turning around to gaze at him.

"What do you want to be, then?" Draco asked him, trying to entertain him as he noticed Teddy's attention on his sketchbook.

"I'm going to play Quidditch someday," he announced proudly, snatching the snitch off his bedside table. He tossed it between his hands, deft and practiced.

"Are you?" he asked indulgently. "And what will you play?"

"Seeker, of course," Teddy sniffed disdainfully. "Like Harry."

Draco laughed. "I was a seeker, too."

The electric blue eyes went impossibly wide with admiration. "You were?"

"Harry always beat me, though," Draco admitted. Teddy patted his arm consolingly.

"That's okay, Harry's very good," he said. Draco chuckled.

He whipped his head around as Harry stepped back into the room. Draco watched them, listening to Teddy chatter as Harry spoke to him in his mind– he supposed it must have looked rather odd, the two of them staging one-sided conversations in his room regularly.

"He said he lost to you all the time," Teddy was telling Harry. "You're so mean."

A pause, before Teddy laughed. Harry ruffled his hair and Draco cocked his head. curious. Harry shook his head with a nostalgic smile, obviously hiding something else.

"What?" Draco asked him, worried.

"Nothing," Teddy grinned. Harry picked him up and he yelped, suddenly finding himself slung over his shoulder.

_Andromeda's waiting for us,_ he signed to Draco. _Want to come?_

Draco stiffened, meeting Teddy's excited gaze. He glanced over at his wheelchair in the corner, biting his lip. "I'm not quite ready for that," he said softly.

Harry's gaze lingered for a moment before he sighed. _If you say so._

"What do you want me to say?" Draco replied sharply, fixing him with a glare. "I'm not ready to face her yet. _God_, did you see her at my mother's..."

He trailed off as Harry walked away from him, Teddy sitting comfortably in his arms. "That was a long time ago," his voice repeated in his head. Draco slumped back against the pillows, not daring to think.

"She misses you, you know," Harry told him before breaking the connection. Draco ignored the sense of guilt overwhelming him, turning over and trying to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>Harry didn't visit for a week after that– he was in Russia, pursuing another of the Death Eaters. He had sent Granger to visit him with a box of sweets on Wednesday, and the Weasel on Saturday with a book from his own library. (Merlin knew how Harry had it, it had been confiscated from the manor after the war.)<p>

He found himself drawing more, contemplating less. Draco was _happier_, listening to the stories Harry told him when he visited. He still took his wheelchair around the hospital, having tea with Katie in her office whenever he could– he supposed that was the next best thing.

It was silent again, not having any patients. Harry continued to fill the silence from a distance, sending an armada of blasted owls every day over the seas to reach him. He fed each one the richest treat he could find before sending them back, finding himself worried that Harry wouldn't get them.

Draco rolled his eyes and sent the snowy back out the window, vaguely wondering if it was safe in St. Petersburg.

* * *

><p>He was fast asleep when Mackenzie shook him awake, slightly flustered.<p>

Draco pried his eyes open blearily as she felt his forehead, helping him sit up. "Draco," she tried to get his attention, but he lolled his head back and refused to meet her gaze. "Come on, Draco," she tried again, shaking him slightly.

"Where's the bloody fire?" Draco groaned, finally opening his eyes.

"There's a visitor for you," Mackenzie explained hurriedly. "Seems important."

"A visitor?" Draco rubbed at his face, trying to pull himself together.

"Tall, dark hair," Mackenzie got out, grabbing his chair from the corner of the room. "Relative of yours, she says?"

Draco shuffled himself to the corner of the bed, sliding into the chair. "I highly doubt it," he yawned sleepily, letting her wheel him out. He rested his head in his hand and closed his eyes again, dozing off on his hand.

* * *

><p>They went to Mackenzie's office and Draco's jaw fell open, seeing his aunt sitting in one of the couches in her dressing gown.<p>

"Healer Malfoy," she nodded to him immediately.

"Aunt Andromeda," he replied instinctively, his back straightening under her hawk-like gaze. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't meet her eyes, distinctly uncomfortable facing her. She had the same eyes as his mother, exuding the regality as she spoke. She softened her look and took his hand, pleadingly. "Harry needs help," she told him softly. "There was blood everywhere–"

Draco's eyes widened. "Where?"

"The bathroom," she told him. "Bathtub, I don't know how he survived it–"

"Why didn't you go straight to the Emergency Ward?" he asked her, confused. "Why me?"

"You're his friend," she looked him straight in the eye. "He doesn't trust anyone."

"Where is he now?" Draco asked, avoiding the interrogation. Harry needed help– he wouldn't have the saviour of the wizarding world dying in the middle of the night.

"In bed," she said. Softer, she added, "Stunned."

"Good," Draco told her. "And the wounds?"

"Closed, but he's so _pale_."

Draco nodded his approval. "All right, I'll come."

He paused, turning to Mackenzie. "Blood replenishing potions, Sleeping draught, my painkillers from the office. Can you do that?"

She nodded and took off. He turned back to Andromeda, shaking off his discomfort. "Right, then," he said. "Mind if we take the floo?"

She weakly smiled his mother's smile. "Not at all."

* * *

><p>Do leave me a review if you're reading this, it's amazing to know people are following this story.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the delay:/

* * *

><p>"<em>You're his friend. He doesn't trust anyone."<em>

Andromeda was wheeling him toward the floo in a terse silence, her feet light on the floor. It was so blessedly relieving after the clatter of Mackenzie's shoes, clumsy. He caught sight of them in a mirror as they passed, silently impressed with the grace his aunt possessed.

She had a daughter; he had met Nymphadora once, while she had been patrolling Hogwarts (during the war, his mind supplied softly). They looked nothing alike, though. Andromeda could almost have been a Malfoy. Perhaps, if her hair was lighter.

But his thoughts drifted back to the way Harry flinched away from his touch and the sparing cold looks. Mood swings, too – hadn't Katie said it was a stress disorder or sorts? The scars on his arms were at least a year old, though, it couldn't have been recent. He had his theory, but he'd have to speak to Harry later–

"He hasn't done this in a while," she spoke softly, as if reading his mind.

"Done what?" He asked cautiously, slightly startled.

She gave him a look of disdain. "You've noticed, haven't you?" she asked rhetorically. "The... injuries, if you will."

He stiffened at the image surfacing in his mind. So _many_ all over his arms. "Yes," he replied to her coldly.

"So you also know he has a history," She continued walking indifferently, the atrium's door finally coming into view – they didn't have much time. An unspoken understanding slowly wove itself between them and he tried to breathe slowly. The wounds.

"Yes," He closed his eyes. "I still don't understand why you–"

"Nobody else has," Andromeda pressed on, avoiding his question. Her fingers gripped the handles of his wheelchair so tight her knuckles were white.

Draco's eyes snapped open and he cocked an eyebrow. "Granger has."

"She thinks he's healed himself," Andromeda scoffed. "That Healer… Bell, was it?"

Draco nodded. Andromeda sighed and released her grip in exasperation. "He has her convinced, too."

"Post-traumatic stress," Draco defended Katie instinctively. "It's possible, he'd been through a war–"

"Draco," she said sharply. "It's been six years. Harry hasn't been like this throughout."

He snapped his mouth shut and surveyed her carefully. She pressed on, not meeting his eyes, leaving the silence between them. Six years since the war. Had it really been so long?

Sometimes, he dreamt of the war too. His mother, in the castle, searching for him. He remembered the Room of Requirement... and the look of Potter, dead in that oaf's arms. He suppressed the images and bit back the urge to sigh heavily.

"What do you mean?" he asked her gently.

"Four years," Andromeda told him. "He hasn't slept well for almost four years."

Draco inhaled sharply, trying to suppress an impatient remark.

"The nightmares..." he began, keeping his tone soft. It was probably best he asked her, before Harry shut himself off again. "Are they common?"

"Almost every night," Andromeda responded, almost inaudible.

Draco frowned. "Is he violent?"

"Not particularly," she admitted. "Verbal."

"_Verbal_?" Draco repeated after her, incredulous. "He's mute, isn't he?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed," she agreed, shakily. "That was– That was a while ago."

He eyed her suspiciously and folded his arms. Deciding to dismiss it, he pressed on. "What about?"

"If I knew," she snapped. "I wouldn't leave it to you, would I?"

He stared back defiantly. "I'm trying to _help–_"

"He doesn't ever _say_ anything," she spoke over him, closing her eyes in annoyance. "It– it just sounds like pain, and nothing else."

"All right," Draco said in an attempt to calm her as he heard Mackenzie catch up with them, looking up. Harry needed him; this could wait. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>"Oh, Merlin," Mackenzie breathed as they stepped through the floo. Draco pressed his lips together. The lacerations on his arm extended up to his elbow, and he was losing blood – the wounds had opened again, the raised skin open in a deliberate pattern. Someone had obviously removed his shirt at some point, leaving the blood-soaked garment on the floor beside the bed.<p>

He wheeled himself forward. "Mackenzie, his pulse, and the blood-replenishing potions. Quickly," he instructed her simply, not trusting her to follow anything else. She hesitated for a moment, looking over the open wounds. They had, unfortunately, been in the their psychiatric department for far too long – most of their mind Healers had never truly encountered maiming until Potter's case – and he rolled his eyes. "_Now,_" he urged her.

"Right," she started, crossing the room and pulling her wand out. Draco reached up and pulled Harry's arm out and cast an _episkey_, ensuring the wounds closed over. He worked slowly up his arm, dragging his tip along the line of the cuts. He counted no less than fifteen on his left arm – none deep.

Mackenzie grimaced at his pace and whispered a spell, forcing his heartbeat up to par. She reached into her bag and pulled out the potion, administering it with another spell forcing him to swallow. His breathing hadn't slowed, still laboured. She gently pressed Harry's right shoulder back onto the bed, rolling him to face the ceiling. Draco thanked her with a grateful nod – it allowed him better access to the wounds on his inner arm.

Andromeda came in behind them, holding a bowl of water. He nodded to her over his shoulder, moving himself to the other side of the bed. _Tergeo_ would be far too abrasive for the freshly sealed wounds, away from the hospital. They couldn't afford them to reopen yet.

He sealed the wounds on Harry's left arm, gingerly pressing against the bruises and Healing them nonverbally. Mackenzie held her hands out and he allowed her to help him onto the bed, shuffling himself to hold his hand to Harry's brow. No immediate symptoms of an infection, at least.

"I need to wake him," he said to Andromeda. She hesitated for a moment, but nodded.

"_Rennervate,_" he intoned clearly. Harry's eyes flew open and he shot up past Draco, knocking him off balance. He held his weight up on his elbow, reaching out to grab Harry and pull him back down. The green gaze glanced around rapidly, disoriented. Afraid and gasping for breath.

"You're fine," Draco found himself soothing him. "I've got you."

Harry's eyes landed on him and he visibly paled. Draco didn't let go, though, trying to calm him with a cheering charm. He looked over the wounds, freshly sealed, and felt the slow, weak pulse beneath his fingers. They needed help from St. Mungo's, and soon–

"Don't tell the hospital," Harry's voice rang in his head, his hand now closed tight around his wand.

"I can't do that," Draco told him, slowly. "You need them–"

"I'll be fine," Harry sounded exhausted, but he is holding on to their connection. "Please, Draco."

Andromeda caught his eye and nodded, too, before ducking her head again and cleaning the blood of the freshly sealed cuts. Mackenzie didn't pay her any heed.

"Malfoy," Mackenzie cut in. "You can't, it's protocol–"

"I said I'm fine," Harry growled as he fell back on his pillow, releasing his wand. Draco leaned forward, the connection broken, worried. Harry raised a hand. _Please._

His breath was speeding up again, some kind of panic beginning to set, and Andromeda's eyes darted between him and her work, distracted. Draco inhaled slowly and looked up at Mackenzie, hardening his gaze. She took a step back instinctively and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. He placed his fingers on Harry's wrist to monitor his pulse and Mackenzie watched him warily, raising her wand to assist him.

"No," he said sharply. "No magic."

She protested weakly. "It's more accurate–"

"Would you risk it?" Draco matched her gaze, shifting his fingers slightly for the pulse point. "If the wounds open again, we won't be able to counter any loss."

Harry's hand shifted under his to pull out of his reach. Mackenzie watched apprehensively, her resolve slowly cracking. Draco closed his eyes. "Please," he said, repeating Harry's words.

She snapped her mouth shut and straightened, trying to maintain her dignity, considering him from a distance. "All right," she said tersely. "In the morning. I'll bring Katie."

Draco nodded. "Thank you."

Mackenzie took a long, deep breath. "You owe me, Malfoy," she said dismissively, before pulling her robes tight around her and stepping out of the room. "Eight in the morning. Have him awake, won't you?"

Then, she disapparated with a soft pop.

Andromeda's shoulders sagged. "Thank you, Draco."

He ignored it, hovering the tip of his wand over Harry's form. "Wake up, you sod," he chided gently, resting his hand on his arm.

Harry didn't respond, pulling his hand away and rolling onto his side. His breathing was slowing, but laboured – he would be fine, for now. "Harry," Draco prodded him, pulling him back onto his back. "What on earth were you doing?"

He remained resolutely silent. Andromeda sat herself beside him on the bed and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a soft sigh. "Harry," she spoke, even as he didn't acknowledge her. "I brought him here. Please."

Draco frowned. "I'm sorry?"

But Andromeda didn't heed him. "Harry."

He watched them both curiously as Harry turned to look at her, his green eyes devoid of all emotion. His arms were now littered with the new scars and Andromeda surveyed them carefully, her lips pressing together until they turned white. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly as she spoke again. "You could've died."

Disdain flashed through Harry's gaze and he raised his hand. _Not now._

"He's a Healer–"

_Not now,_ he softened his eyes, pleading her.

"Potter, you really are selfish, aren't you?" Draco drawled, folding his arms.

Anger, now. His fingers twisted fast, forming words carelessly. _Shut up._

"No," he said defiantly. "Tell me why."

_No._ Harry looked toward him, heaving himself onto his elbows._ I told you I was fine._

"No," Draco spat back. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Tell him," Andromeda urged him, clasping his hand in hers. "I think– I think he already knows."

Harry yanked himself away from Draco and pulled his hand away from her, toward his chest. _No._

He straightened and matched a gaze with Andromeda. She looked exhausted, her pallor worrisome and her hands shaking still. "How long?" he asked her, frank.

Staring back at the scars, it was slowly becoming apparent – one could only hope he was _right_.

Depression, he suspected – the listless behaviour, the general melancholy. An actor, too (who would have guessed, really, watching him interact with Granger?), which was rather dangerous – At least. He couldn't confirm it, though, not without his spells. And Harry would notice those.

It was rather difficult, if he were honest. Normally, they came to him – he hardly ever found them outside the hospital.

She hesitated. "Four years," she said softly, ignoring the harsh glare Harry shot her.

"Harry–" Draco started, his eyes widening.

_It's nothing. Katie said I was fine._

"Relapse, then," Draco told him, undeterred. "Harry, you need help–"

_I don't need your help._

Draco rubbed his temples and ran through the file in his mind again. Patients, of course, were rarely ever this difficult, but he knew it would have to be done. "_Harry,_" he said, exasperated. "I can help you. Mind Healer, remember?"

Harry looked at him, somewhat sad, grabbing his wand. "I know," he said, his face hard. "But I don't want your help."

"Scared, are you?" Draco sneered, trying to throw him. He needed to break the pattern and soon, before Harry decided to heave himself off and out of the house. Harry fell silent for a moment, his eyes searching his.

"You wish," he said, curiously soft.

Andromeda shifted on the bed, resting a hand on his shoulder. He looked at her, too, his eyes unreadable as he sat between them. His brow was covered in sweat, still, his hair sticking to his forehead and covering the scar.

She held out a hand and he handed her his wand, dropping his hand to the bed and staring vacantly at the ceiling. Draco felt the irritation wash out of him again, shifting his weight on the bed and looking at his chair, left at an angle where Mackenzie had forgotten it. Andromeda took the wand with her as she left, giving him a curt nod before disappearing.

Harry tapped his wrist and Draco looked at him warily.

_Stay._

"I want to help," Draco told him.

_I don't want your help,_ Harry replied sharply.

"I know," he said, smiling despite himself. "Stubborn git."

Harry watched him for a moment, then rolled onto his side and tucked an arm under his head. _What will you do?_

Draco exhaled. "I don't know."

Harry gave him a pointed look. _I'm not an experiment._

"Merlin forbid," Draco grinned. "You're insufferable, though."

_And you're incorrigible, _Harry said, spelling the word lazily. Draco snickered and shrugged unapologetically.

"Got to be," he thought aloud, careless. "All Healers are."

Harry laughed, then leaned off the bed to pick up his shirt, pulling it on and ruffling his hair. He sobered and watched him with an earnest gaze. _Stay._

"Do you want me to?" Draco frowned.

He nodded. _Don't fancy that Mackenzie girl._

"No one does," Draco responded seriously. Harry broke into an unwitting smile.

_Can't imagine why._

Pausing for a while, Draco positions his chair with his wand. "All right. I'll stay," he said finally. It would probably be better to watch over him for the night, until he could convince Harry into the hospital. Or, he noted offhandedly, he could have Katie look at him again.

Harry looked down at the chair, then back up. _You'll be alright?_

Draco glared. "Will you?"

His hands faltered for a moment. _Of course,_ he signed.

He sat himself back in the wheelchair, lacing his fingers together for a moment. "Then so will I."

Harry didn't respond to that, instead pulling his blanket up and closing his eyes. Draco cast a spell to keep him asleep for the night – at least, until Katie arrived.

* * *

><p>"How is he?" Andromeda asked, not looking up as he wheeled himself into the living room. She was perched on the edge of her chaise, twirling the wand between her fingers.<p>

"Fine," Draco reassured her, tired. "Asleep."

"I'm sorry to trouble you," she sighed, gesturing to the cup of tea on the coffee table before her. She uncrossed her legs and set the wand down beside her. She had released her hair, the dark curls falling over her shoulders.

"No," Draco dismissed it, retrieving the cup. "Good that you did, he might've died."

She paled visibly. "Don't be crude, Draco," she scolded, slightly faint.

There was a terse silence, allowing her to gaze off at the wall behind him. Draco drank his tea gratefully, still warm. He would write to St. Mungo's soon – he had yet to sign out, after all.

"I need to take him in," he told her. "At some point. To have him diagnosed."

Her eyes flashed and she pressed her lips together, nodding once. "Necessary, of course," she said aloud, as if in self-reassurance.

"Of course," he told her, wheeling toward the couch to take her hand. "He needs to be helped."

"You can help him," she replied sharply.

"I can try," he admitted. "But–"

"Then try," she begged him, tightening the grip on his hand. "Please – he doesn't want anyone to know."

He surveyed her before closing his eyes, picturing his mother again. "All right," he agreed reluctantly.

Honestly, he was going soft.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I'm back! After my extended leave of absence, which mostly consisted of me being a normal person for once in my life. I hope you enjoy this, a few have been asking for this little plot development for a while.

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><p>"Malfoy, you'd better have a good reason for this," Katie showed up, disgruntled at his presence. Her hair was in a haphazardly tied bun, her bag carelessly slung over her shoulder – it tugged it down <em>just<em> enough to expose the lovely spot blossoming on her skin.

Draco raised an eyebrow, his arms folded. "Didn't make it home, did you."

She glared at him and pushed past, flushing a rather amusing shade of red. Her hands gripped the chair with far more force than was necessary and pushed him to Harry's bedside, bending over him and running her diagnostics with a quick wave of her wand. Draco cast a few of his own, checking his vitals, making sure Harry hadn't managed to kill himself in his sleep.

"Mackenzie will be here soon?" he queried, obligatory.

"Probably in five," she checked her watch. "She's got to deal with Rodriguez today."

He winced. "Sounds awful."

"Isn't it?" She smirked, before returning to Harry's form. "He's very curious about this house call, Healer Malfoy."

He smiled unabashedly. "She _did_ say she'd help with that."

"You manipulative sod." Katie glared. "What do we know about his condition, then?"

"Accident with porcelain," he supplied, lying easily as she looked over the damage on his arms. Draco had managed to dissipate the scar tissue while Harry had been asleep, trying to blend the lines and conceal them.

She turned her arm in her fingers and looked up at him immediately. "Bullshit."

Draco narrowed his eyes and she held his arm out for him to see. The blue lines, mirroring the exact cut pattern, showed up clearly. Hiding his surprise, he pushed himself up onto the bed. "How'd you do that?"

"I'm his Healer," she murmured, checking the other arm with a similar wave. "You don't think I know a couple of tricks?"

"You could teach me," he leaned over, doubly curious about Harry's history.

"Nice try, Malfoy," she shooed him so she could finish in peace.

He fell silent and let her finish – eliminating scars, administering another blood potion and some painkillers – finally placing her hands on her hips. "I guess that'll be all I can do," Katie sighed. "You'd covered most of it."

"Naturally," he grinned brightly.

"Show-off," she reached out to scruff his hair. "You'll take care of him?"

"Obviously," he deadpanned, shifting out of her reach. "Which reminds me –" He suddenly remembered Andromeda's request, which had kept him awake all night. "I think I need to... stay. With him."

"For now? Of course," Katie frowned. "That I expected."

Draco shook his head. "Not quite. I'll need to take a leave of absence."

She crossed her arms and exhaled, closing her eyes. After a pause, she spoke carefully. "I don't know if we can... _afford_ that, Draco, we're terribly short on staff as it is."

Harry began to shift behind him, turning onto his side with a soft breath. Draco instinctively moved to check on him, before he responded quietly. "He needs help more than you lot do, don't you think?"

She raised an eyebrow in questioning and Draco moved to hold his arm up to the light again. Tracing a pattern on his arm, he gave her a pointed look. Katie seemed to inhale as she understood – "There's been a relapse."

He startled a bit at the sharpness in her eyes. "Yes," he relented, shoulders sagging. "Just give me a couple of months – call it 'rehab' for the Golden Boy – and I'll be back."

There was a whimpering noise and they both turned to hover over him. Draco murmured softly, pressing his wand tip to Harry's temple – a calming spell, just to get him back into peaceful sleep. Katie shifted him a bit to help with the tilt of Harry's head, pulling his hand away sharply as he tried to administer a painkiller.

Draco hissed in protest, but she gave him a resigned look. "Not for another two hours," she muttered. "And you've got to remember, they're everyday for two weeks."

She placed his hands in his lap, meeting his gaze steadily, as his eyes widen at her. She was allowing him to stay – _why?_ "You're sure you can handle him, yes?"

"Of course he can," Andromeda appeared behind them, eyeing Katie. She had a tray of tea with her, held tightly until her knuckles were white. Draco instinctively reached out to take it from her, forgetting momentarily he couldn't move from where he was, and let his arms fall away.

Katie nodded to her, neatening her robes and making an effort to hide the bruise. She looked between Draco and his aunt. "I'm sure," she agreed, straightening. "So I'll leave Potter in his care for now."

"You will?" Draco tilted his head.

She dropped Harry's file into his lap with a roll of her eyes. "Morning," she greeted Andromeda, patting her shoulder and leaving, hands deep in her pockets.

Andromeda dropped her facade immediately, the worry crossing her features and her shoulders slumping. "Is he alright?" she queried, setting the tray down and joining Draco by Harry's side.

"He's plenty better," Draco reassured her, stiffening under her gaze. "Just some painkillers, but he should be fine."

"And you can stay," she nudged him, pushing his fingers aside to get to the file.

"Er, yes," he nodded. "I can stay."

She pulled the folder into her arms and opened it, leafing through the pages before Draco could think to stop her. Her brow furrowed but she didn't say a word, shutting it and handing it over. "Good," she said after a moment. "I'll have a room ready."

"You don't have to–"

"Yes, I've got to!" Andromeda laughed weakly, then lifted a hand to rest on his jaw. "You're Cissy's son, Draco, I don't think I'll ever forget that."

He let the confusion cross his face. "I don't... understand."

She smiled gently. "I suppose you wouldn't. It's a shame you grew up with Lucius Malfoy," she said cryptically. "Don't even know what 'family''s like, do you?"

His back straightened at the mention of his father and snapped away from her, hardened his face and averted his gaze. "I don't _need_ 'family'," he retorted. "I'm doing quite well on my own."

* * *

><p>Harry didn't wake till after lunch, sending his patronus parading into the kitchen. The stag nuzzled him and nodded toward Harry's room, forceful and refusing to leave. Draco let a soft chuckle at the ridiculous resemblance to Harry himself.<p>

Despite the new truce struck, Draco was wary when he rolled in. Harry was sat up, rubbing at his eyes, his hair quite possibly worse than Draco had ever seen it. "Feeling better, Sleeping Beauty?" Draco asked, fishing a painkiller off the shelf and handing it over.

His patient, the grateful sod, flipped him off and took the potion without a word.

"The hospital's said I can stay," Draco told Harry anyway, rambling on, trying to strike up an awkward conversation. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair to look up at him. "You must be pretty special."

Harry smiled and shook his head. _They'd do anything for me, _he quipped with his fingers. _Even dance naked in the Ministry Atrium if I asked._

Draco leaned forward, interested. "I'd like to see you try."

They looked at each other, soberly considering, before breaking out into laughter – Draco tried not to think about the incredible silence even as Harry clutched his side. Eventually, they calmed and Harry handed the potion vial back over. _Thank you._

He shrugged in reply. "No problem."

_Katie'll be over?_ Harry twiddled his thumbs a moment.

"She was here this morning," Draco reached over to grab Harry's folder from the place Andromeda had left it. "Gave you some painkillers, nothing much else."

As if Harry had just remembered why Draco was there at all, he stiffened and dropped his gaze, steady on his lap. He began to close off, and Draco put a hand on his leg to stop him. Harry snapped his head around to look up, ready to revolt, but he forced himself to breathe.

"Talk to me," Draco instructed. "Honestly, it'll help."

_I don't want to talk. _Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"All right," Draco sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. He had always hated the ones forced to come – they never opened up, and a Mind Healer was useless without that trust. He _needed_ that trust.

"Anything to eat?" Harry's voice echoed in his head. Draco turned his attention back, spotting the wand in hand.

"Not yet, m'afraid," Draco shrugged.

"Brilliant," Harry groaned, his stomach letting out a rumble on cue. Draco snickered and tossed him a potion he kept in his pocket. Harry raised an eyebrow in questioning.

"Suppresses the hunger a bit," Draco explained. "Really useful in the hospital."

Harry nodded but surveyed the potion suspiciously, pink and almost luminescent. He eventually swallowed, pocketing the vial. "Thanks."

There was another pause before Harry spoke. "D'you think I'm allowed to be out?"

Draco frowned. "Come again?"

"Out," Harry murmured. "I fancy going to Diagon, or something."

He looked over his shoulder for Andromeda. "I guess it'd be fine," he relented, when he saw she hadn't followed him to Harry's room. "But not alone."

"Oh," Harry glanced out the window and set his wand aside, pushing himself off the bed onto his feet. _Want to go with me, then?_

Draco stared at him. "In this chair?" he blinked.

_I'll push you,_ Harry assured him. Draco backed away as he approached, though, apprehension crossing his features.

Suddenly, Draco felt deafened by the memories – his father, reminding him about his reputation, the bloody family name and how important it was to be a _Malfoy._ How important it was, and how disgraceful it was to be ordinary.

"No, thanks," he denied swiftly as Harry came close, interrupting his thoughts. "Take Andromeda."

He snorted. _Don't be ridiculous._

"You're being ridiculous," he retorted.

_Why?_ Harry leaned forward to rest his hands on either side of him. Draco flushed just a bit at the closeness, nervous, turning his face away.

"You do realise most people don't know," he swallowed, gesturing down at his form in the chair. "That I'm like this."

Harry regarded him a moment, pulling away – slightly apologetic. But he didn't quite move out of the way, thoughtfully drumming his fingers on his chin. _So? _he asked after a pause, moving around him.

"So I'd rather they not?" he cocked an eyebrow.

_Coward._

"Says you, who's been hiding Merlin-knows-where," Draco deadpanned.

_Touché,_ Harry allowed, before he walked past Draco with his arms folded.

He was about to exhale in relief, having convinced him–

And the chair moved forward. Swinging his head around, he caught sight of Harry pushing him, his gaze resolutely fixed ahead. "Oy," he began to panic. "Potter, what are you doing?"

Harry didn't reply, his wand probably tucked away into his pocket. Draco turned, struggling to see him property. "For the love of Merlin, Potter," he protested. "_Piss off_, I don't want to go."

Deviously, Harry shook his head, pointing ahead to the door. Draco backed himself into his chair as far as he could, pulling out his wand immediately and murmuring a spell to freeze the wheels of his chair. He was tempted, even, to stun Harry – anything. _Anything_ not to be out and about.

Harry sped up and as the door clicked open, so Draco closed his eyes and aimed his wand over his shoulder, murmuring a knockback jinx and sending his beloved saviour a couple of meters away. His gaze flickered back to the door, only to catch sight of a familiar face, shocked.

She'd dyed her hair, barely recognisable, but the regality was unmistakeable as she stood before him, her hair coiffed up as it had always been. Hadn't aged since he'd last seen her, still small and still blushed.

He stared stupidly at her. "Queenie?" he murmured in confusion, seeing her stand there. Had she always looked that much like Astoria?

Daphne shifted awkwardly but kept her face smooth, her hands deep in her pockets. "Is this a bad time?" she looked up at Harry, then at him.

"I'd say so, yes, absolutely terrible," Draco grinned at her, comforted at the sight of a friend. "Want to come in anyway?"

She shook her head with an apologetic smile. "Draco," she came in and kneeled in front of him, at his eye level. "I, er, thought you'd want to know. Before the letter finds you."

Harry came to stand and watched them with interest, just encroaching – too far to be removed, too bloody close for comfort. Draco eyed him until he rolled his eyes, whistled innocently, and disappeared out of sight. Draco turned back to Daphne. "Go on, then, Queenie."

She closed her eyes, pausing a moment to press her lips together until they were white. Draco furrowed his brow and lifted her head. "Is something wrong with you? I can fix it, the hospital's left a kit–"

"No, that's not it," she shook her head, cutting him off.

"Then what is?" Draco pressed.

There was another silence as she fought to speak clearly. "Astoria is getting married," she finally said, holding his hand tightly as she spoke.

"Yes, I'm aware," he frowned. He was her fiancé, after all.

"No, I don't quite think you are," Daphne pressed. "She's getting married next week."

He thought back to his bride, vaguely – rather different from her sister, really. _His _bride, which really didn't make sense. Married? "What do you mean?" he frowned, leaning back in his chair. There was a nagging feeling, but no–

"Mother and father have chosen a husband," she told him clearly, but her knuckles were white. "Draco, I'm sorry – but they've broken it off."

His eyes widened and he let himself sag back in his chair. "My legs," he breathed, his eyes glazing over and staring off at nothing at all. "They've ruled me out as an invalid."

Daphne gripped his hand tighter, trying to calm him. "I told them not to," she continued. "But... Merlin, I'm sorry, Draco."

He had known it – somewhere in his mind – that it was coming. His body was too weak, and they hadn't any assurance he'd be able to father a child in this state. Astoria had been terribly kind with the gifts, too – had she known?

"Queenie," he murmured.

She sighed and looked up, her voice tight. "Malfoy."

"I... thank you," he got out, closing his eyes. "It's not your fault."

She opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it and closed it, releasing his hand with a final squeeze and pulling her coat around her. Running a hand through her hair, she stood, straightened herself out and left with her head held high.

Draco stared after her, his head lolled to the side. He needed a firewhiskey, perhaps, before he began to drive himself mad. He considered the door, left ajar, for a moment, before he let his hand curl into a fist and punch the nearby wall just hard enough to make his hand hurt. Hurt – he hadn't expected that to _hurt_. She was a political bride, they'd both known it from the start – so why did it matter so much–

"I heard," right on cue, Harry's voice invaded his thoughts, clear and deliberate.

Draco's tried to lighten his gaze as he turned around, not attempting self-pity. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, his voice still coming out flat – but he supposed there must be some comfort in that friend of his, because he calmed visibly.

"I know," his companion shrugged, tapping his head to remind Draco of that connection the link opened up. "You didn't need to tell me."

He couldn't help himself then, though. "Stay out of my head."

"Not possible, I'm afraid," Harry returned it easily, amiably, beginning to smile.

"Can I help you, then?" Draco stared at him, almost marvelling at how well Harry was avoiding his attempts to be _alone_.

Harry chuckled humourlessly and moved over, his wand gripped tight. "That really is my job," he replied, kneeling. "Saviour of the Wizarding World and all that."

Draco turned away. "You're wasting your time," he told Harry carefully. "This isn't something you can fix."

Harry stood and took the handles of Draco's chair, pushing him along. "Try me."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Apologies for the delay, I know it's been a while – and I've owed you this update for some time. I hope you're still interested, and I should be ready with another update in November.

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><p>And so they'd ended up pretty decently pissed, Draco nursing his second bottle of firewhiskey as Potter knocked back another shot of muggle vodka. He noted absently that he had been surprisingly calm so far, not having thrown any fits even, not even when Harry had tried to pry again. (It <em>had<em> occurred to him at some point through the first bottle that he probably shouldn't have allowed his patient near the alcohol, but he was finding it impossibly harder to give a shite about _that_. Andromeda wouldn't be able to blame him, would she?)

And there weren't many words said after the first couple of swigs, and he hadn't quite said that he'd blessed Harry with a non-alcoholic bottle, a spell he'd learned back in Hogwarts, drinking down the burn without the classes of the next day in mind. It had been infinitely useful to, treat the alcohol addicts, easing them off so they could sit still and have that decent conversation; That really was the problem with Mind Healing, he mused, having to _talk_.

It kept him occupied for the most part at this hour – thinking about his craft – which helped with the splitting headache that was plaguing him. It came in waves, following an odd sort of pattern as thoughts clicked into place. Daphne, Astoria, St. Mungo's, Harry, Astoria, Healing, Astoria, _Astoria._

He wondered, behind his glass, why she mattered – the political bride, wasn't she? He didn't need her. He didn't _love _her, for Merlin's sake, but he couldn't reason why he'd gotten himself piss drunk over the upset it'd caused. Irrational.

Fantastic.

Instead of troubling himself further, however, he knocked back the rest of his drink and turned to Harry. He was surprisingly slurred as he spoke, having spent most of their night in silence, his body surprisingly muddled for his clear mind.

"M'going to bed," he said, tired, the syllables lazy and unclear. "G'night."

Harry, still sober and confusedly so, waved with a tentative nod. His fingers twisted into instinctive words, ones Draco knew he would be able to form even if Harry _had_ been as smashed as he himself was. _Night._

Draco made an odd note in his mind at that – that even drunk, he was able to listen, but he wheeled himself out slightly carelessly before he could say anything else. Heading toward his room, he didn't stop until he had tucked himself into bed, a movement so practiced his inebriated mind didn't have to care. "Night," he murmured to no one, and then sleep took him.

He would deal with Harry in the morning.

* * *

><p>It was sometime after the war that he'd been prescribed a daily dose of Dreamless Sleep, and Draco hadn't ever missed a dose until that night. They said it would help him to move on, that it would ease the pain of nightmares where blood was shed and spells flew between two sides of a war Draco hadn't ever found a proper place in.<p>

It was hard, he had reasoned, to choose – when you were hardly of age, when you hardly knew, truly _knew_, what you believed in. And that had been his downfall, had Harry bloody Potter not pulled him out of the fire when his last attempt to side with the darkness had failed.

But he had skipped that, the vial still tucked into the trunk that he'd managed to have brought into the house for his stay at Andromeda's. (It wouldn't do to have her providing for him all the time, not even if he was her nephew. Somehow, his pride wouldn't allow it.) For a while, the alcohol kept his mind cloudy, the colours abstract enough for him to ignore it.

But they eventually twisted into shapes – memories of being knelt at the feet of a faceless man as he tried to keep his legs steady and his hands from shaking as they bared an arm for him, letting him touch the tip of his wand to the unmarred flesh, pressed into him until Draco was screaming in pain, trying to pull away from the tip, and then–

"Draco, get up," a voice clouded the sound of the chamber, and the darkness began to fade into a grey immediately, leaving him to dart his gaze around for the source. The wand lifted from his arm and the figure he so feared seemed to draw back, almost burned by the echo.

Then, again. "Wake up, you sod," the voice – _Harry_ grumbled, obviously having stolen his wand back again, and Draco could have laughed as he remained kneeling on the floor; More than ready to return to a world where he couldn't, where he was bound to a chair. It was all right. It would genuinely be all right. He would be safe.

Once more, the familiar echo in his mind. "I swear, Draco, you're a bloody–"

"M'wake," he barely managed to mumble out as he finally managed to get the words through his lips, his dream self dissolving into nothing as his mind slid back into consciousness. Draco immediately felt the weight of his hangover sinking in, and he groaned a bit as he tried to roll over.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty." The smirk crossed his face, and Draco resisted the urge to glare. "It's noon. Fancy joining us in the land of the living?"

"Enticing," he deadpanned in return, his head throbbing. "Anyone else out there besides you?"

"Just me."

"God, no." The slightest hint of a smile continued to play on his lips as he lay in bed, slinging an arm over his eyes – he'd realised belatedly that he hadn't closed the curtains, letting out a breath as he tried to ease the pain.

There was a silence before something clattered. Draco frowned and slowly uncovered his face, his eyes barely open as he tried to look around the room. "Potter?"

Another scramble as something else hit the ground, then – "Fuck you, Malfoy."

He raised an eyebrow, gently easing himself off the bed into his chair as he made his way to the bathroom, searching for Harry – even in his state, his mind was clear enough to pick up on the need to keep watch over him, and he sought him out. "Something got your knickers in a twist?" He pried lightly.

"Furnishings," Harry replied dryly, a bit of a pause before a groan echoed in his head.

"Your house," Draco shrugged, not missing a beat before tossing back a reply. Hardly sympathetic, he'd admit, but he wasn't about to apologise.

"Right. Where d'you even keep your potions?" Harry's voice came through irritably, and Draco came in to see Harry holding his head, digging around in the cupboard. From the look of the soap bottle on the floor, Draco noted, it must've fallen, and he picked it up into his lap.

"Here," he offered to help, picking the concealed bag in the corner, filled with his Healer's kits and his clothes; Ensuring he had the right compartment, he clicked it open, exposing the potions case. "Concealed poisons, mostly, but... Can't have people stealing my work, either."

Harry raised an eyebrow and tucked his wand into his back pocket, impressed enough as he looked at the variety – _Killed anyone yet? Could slip these into anything. _

"Wish I had, sometimes," Draco humoured him, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "That bloody ginger of yours, the girl Weasley... Would have given her some kind of sedative."

There was a pause where Harry should have laughed or even chided Draco for his words, and then, slightly delayed, he let a rueful smile cross his face. _Yeah,_ he said slowly, and he pulled what he knew was a standard Hangover potion to drop in Draco's hands. _She got interesting, after the war. Never quite the same. _

Draco turned it in his hands, raising a brow. "Thought you'd tried to nest with her," he said absently, uncorking the vial to knock it back at one go. "What changed your mind?"

He ignored the initial bitterness rising in his throat, reminded of Daphne in the hall, the announcement that was due in the mail. They might even try to drag him out for a bloody interview with _The Prophet_, he noted with a sigh, looking up again.

Harry paused a moment before he replied, slower, considering. _Expectations_, he said simply, some reluctance in the admission – but they'd agreed that Draco was enough of a Healer to be trusted, and willing enough to help, so Harry'd agreed on his end to stay open. It was an odd sort of truce, if he admitted it, but it functioned the way they were used to.

Draco opted to nod, and he sighed as he set the empty vial back in his case. He was hardly in the position to give any advice as it was, and he stayed silent as he wheeled himself back into his room. The potion began to clear his head, and he grabbed a glass to fill it with water.

"Malfoy?" Harry's voice carried through again, his wand probably in hand as he set the bathroom back in order – making some effort to treat their guest well, Draco supposed. He needn't have bothered, because it wasn't like Draco was a muggle or something equally bland; he could care for himself.

"Here. Not about to try the stairs yet, thanks," he said absently, offering a smile over his shoulder.

"'Course you weren't," Harry returned dryly, getting out of the bathroom. He tucked his wand into his pocket, sighing as he looked around the room. _Listen, we've got company_, he told Draco after a bit, stepping behind the wheelchair to pull him down the stairs.

Draco frowned. his chair settling onto the floor again. He was hardly in order, and barely dressed – he didn't fancy any kind of company as it was, let alone the possibility of Harry's clamouring fangirls. "Potter, I don't think it'd be a good i–"

"Draco?" A small, excited voice interrupted him from a corner, and Draco's brow creased as he fell silent. It was familiar, and he paused with a look to Harry before turning back – only to be greeted with a blue-haired mess launching itself at him.

"Merlin–" Draco ground out as he leaned forward, winded slightly, and he looked down at the kid that'd landed in his lap. He remembered Teddy being calmer, somehow, but the weight that settled wasn't completely unwelcome. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

"Grandmother said you'd take care of me," Teddy announced proudly. "Are you going to stay with us now?"

Draco frowned down, and Harry smiled encouragingly – he spoke to Teddy, Draco could see, the eyes brightening still with excitement. It was always odd, watching Harry interact with anyone, but it was certainly something he could appreciate. If nothing else, it'd be filed neatly into Harry's folder.

"We should go flying," Teddy responded, and he clambered out to go and take Harry's hand. "And Draco can watch, right? Or y'could teach me Wizard's Chess..."

Another pause, and Teddy grinned. The child turned back to Draco and bounded over, resting his hands on the arms of the chair. "Draco, can you teach me?"

"Teach you?" He asked, confused, his brow creasing. "Teach you what?"

Teddy laughed, and then he sighed dramatically. "Chess, Draco," he said, trying to look imperious. "Can you teach me chess?" A pointed look from his godfather in the corner, and Teddy softened a bit. "_Please_?"

Draco frowned, but he nodded after a pause. Harry was relieved enough, leaning against the wall, and Teddy grinned at him – sharing another thought, it must have been. As the chattery mass disappeared to fetch the set, Draco turned his eyes on his companion.

"He lives with us," Harry said easily enough, shrugging. "Andromeda – She let him stay at a friend's, but he's stayed with her since the battle."

The blond sighed, and he leaned back in his chair with a nod. "Figured it would be something like that," he said finally, and he picked up his own want to twirl in his fingers. "Doesn't seem like she'd allow anyone to take family form her – mother had always been rather illustrative with the stories of her husband."

"Can't say your father would have been better," Harry tried to joke, but Draco felt a painful settling in his chest at that.

"Bollocks," he returned, trying not to miss a beat. "Father was more than happy to hand me over to the Dark Lord, and I'm sure he'd allow mother to leave if it kept him safe."

Harry paused, almost trying to apologise, but Teddy didn't leave them much room as he ran back in. He set up on the table in the kitchen, and Harry sighed as he pushed Draco in. It was still odd for them both, not using their magic, not relying on themselves, but he supposed that he was allowed vulnerability for a while.

He'd found himself tired of being proud, anyhow. "Here. The pawn moves one or two spaces – only forward," he began, taking the white marble into his fingers, sliding it on the wood. Teddy watched with wide, curious eyes, and he propped his chin up on his hands.

* * *

><p>"And... Checkmate," Harry announced triumphantly, setting his Queen down again.<p>

"Don't suppose you have a rigged set, Potter? I wouldn't put it past you," Draco sighed, and he folded his hands in his lap. He was well out of practice, he was aware, and Harry had had nothing better to do with his time. Draco had forgotten, too, how the Weasleys had been rather well known for their games – he supposed Harry must have played, at some point.

"A set responds well to its master," Harry said, chuckling as he leaned back. They'd managed to set Teddy down for bed, after an admirable struggle, the blue of Teddy's hair fading to a light brown as his excitement died down. Interesting. "Besides, s'not like there's much else to do."

"Thought you'd have returned to your job," Draco said slowly, moving the set back into its box, being careful to lay them out properly. He recognised it – belonging to the Black house, and possibly inherited from Sirius. He sighed, putting it aside in his head. "Have the Wizarding World calling your name."

"Probably why I didn't," Harry said, surprisingly blunt and honest.

Draco rose an eyebrow, and he waited for an explanation. Harry didn't offer one at first, but he'd gone back to the nervous rubbing of his scar. "Well," he said after a pause. "Not much to do. Greatest scab to pick's already dead."

Draco sighed, and he leaned forward. He closed the set with a soft click, and he pulled it into his lap to examine. "You'd be surprised what they say about you," he offered, and he looked up at Harry again. "That you could do anything – could probably walk stark naked through London and start a trend, Potter."

Harry snorted. "And if I don't want to?"

"_Anything_," he said, pointed. "The press's done turning on you."

"How do you know?" Harry demanded, with some edge to his voice. He didn't like the topic, and it was obvious enough – Draco knew when to leave it, he supposed, and he held his hands up in surrender. He took a moment, gathering himself again, and he grabbed a glass of water himself. "It isn't like that's news, let's be honest."

"But?"

_Expectations,_ Harry said again, the same response he'd offered before – setting his wand aside. There was a bit of silence between them then, the dishonesty in that statement settling, but Draco could hardly fault him for it. Eventually, Draco turned to push himself back toward the staircase, sighing.

"Get some sleep," he called back over his shoulder. "Think you're going to need it, because I'm not getting up when he does."

"And fuck you, Malfoy," the voice called back loudly from the kitchen, a little tired, but it's a comfort.

The company of a child, a cousin. Kin.

He took comfort in that.


End file.
